Keepsake of my Starless Beloved
by grayseeker
Summary: The Great War of Cybertron might have ended, but Crypt Master Dirge still knows that the Decepticons' fallen leader must be properly mourned, and buried. If only he'd leave Scavenger out of it.
1. A Knock at the Door

**AN:** This is a sequel, of sorts, for my short story _Untouchable_ , and also makes reference to events that took place in the first chapter of _The Beckoning Silence_. It stands on its own, however, and the stories don't have to be read in any particular order. The term _ku'at_ is my own coinage, and is a play on the ancient Egyptian concept of Ma'at, which encompasses truth, balance, order, law, morality and justice. Ku'at means more or less the same thing. A very special thanks to Novaspark for helping me brainstorm a suitably poetic title.

* * *

 **Keepsake of my Starless Beloved**  
by Grayseeker

Scavenger bolted into his quarters, slammed the door and sagged against it. He'd barely managed to slip away. Fortunately, Hook was still busy running triage in the medical center downstairs, trying to return as many injured Decepticons as possible to battle-readiness just in case the Autobots decided to press their advantage with a surprise attack. The rest of his team were in the command center, helping to dismantle equipment. Everyone was running back and forth shouting random orders at each other, and Scavenger had managed to disappear amid the confusion.

He was lucky that the demolition operation hadn't yet found its way down here to the crew level, where most of the Decepticons were quartered. It was just a matter of time, though, and Cyclonus' orders had been extremely clear. Any able-bodied mechs who were unable to assist in the search for Galvatron were to return here, to the Decpticons' main base of operations in Kaon, and make preparations for a hasty departure.

He hadn't specified just where they were departing _to_ , at least not to the likes of Scavenger, but Hook had opined that they were probably returning to Charr. The fact that there was already a base there meant it would be easier to return there, Hook had reasoned, than to try and start over somewhere else. Scavenger suspected Hook was right; Hook was right about most things, and rarely let anyone forget it. Either way, Cyclonus had instructed that they bring only what was essential, and destroy everything else.

Scavenger didn't have to guess which category his collection of treasures would fall under. Ever since the Autobots had declared victory, he'd been racking his processor trying to come up with a plan to save them. He was still drawing a blank. There was only so much that he could smuggle in his subspace, since every mech would be expected use most, if not all, of his available subspace to carry a share of the aforementioned "necessities." Personal keepsakes didn't count; not even Scavenger's record collection, his selection of antique welding equipment, or his artful stacks of crushed Volkswagens, refrigerators, and other Earth oddments.

His entire collection would be deemed useless clutter, and Scavenger knew from painful experience that attempting to save any of it under circumstances such as these would likely result in severe punishment. His one real option would be to bribe Astrotrain into carrying a few unmarked crates in his hold, but there were two inherent problems with that. For one, Astrotrain was in deep space right now, helping Cyclonus, Scourge and the Sweeps in their search for Galvatron. But worse, Scavenger could think of only one item in his possession that would be of any interest to the shuttle, and that item was non-negotiable.

With a sigh, he pushed away from the door and shuffled across the room, trying hard not to look at or think about his doomed treasures as he passed them by. There were rusted pipes and cracked hoses, an old barrel filled with burned-out luma-stones, an antique hi-grade decanter covered in a patina of age, and many piles of old books, magazines, sea shells, cinder blocks, broken toys, and other things that he'd managed to bring with him from Earth. He sent a mental apology to each one as he passed, wishing he could save even a few.

At the far side of the room he knelt, tucking his shovel-tail up behind his back, and ran square digit-tips along a hairline gap between two of the metallic floor tiles. He found the catch, pressed it, and one of the tiles slid back to reveal the small storage compartment he'd built beneath the floor. There were two items inside. He pulled out the first one and held it cupped between his palms, considering it.

It was a book about the size of his two fists and bound with thick, unengraved steel plates. This was not the original binding, but one that he'd cobbled together out of scrap metal after Bonecrusher had discovered the book and had attempted to, well… crush it. Scavenger had managed to salvage most of the pages and stitched them into this new, crush-proof binding, and then, as an added measure, had built the hidden storage compartment. Until last orn, it had been his most treasured possession.

He let it fall open, flipping through page after page covered in his square, careful block-script. Each page was different. He'd experimented with various meters, tried sonnets and ballads, blank verse and haiku. Each poem had been a fresh hope, a renewed chance of finding the elusive combination of words that would somehow make Starscream understand how he felt. He came to the last poem and turned to a fresh, blank page. There were many such pages left, pages that would now remain forever blank. He brought out his stylus, paused to consider for a moment, and began to write.

When he was done, he rocked back on his heels, contemplating his work. He'd composed it during the return trip from Planet Junk, when he'd finally had a moment alone with his thoughts. It was then that the full gravity of everything that had taken place over the past orn had come crashing in on him, and the poem had emerged into his mind fully formed, like an image developing in an old-style holocube. It was, he thought, the best poem he'd ever written. It would also be his last.

He closed the book and tucked it into his subspace. Once he arrived on Charr, or wherever they were going, he would destroy it. He hoped it would be Charr though, because, if possible, he wanted to drop it into one of the planet's many volcanoes. That seemed a fitting end for the words that Starscream would now never hear. Until then, he needed to guard it closely in order to make sure that none of the other Decepticons—or, Primus forbid, the Autobots—got their hands on it. He'd been fortunate in that Bonecrusher wasn't much of a reader, but if anyone else found it, he'd have to jump into a volcano himself in order to live it down.

Reaching back into the compartment, he drew out the second object. This one was shrouded in a gray canvas bag tied with a makeshift drawstring. He promised himself that he would eventually find something that was more worthy of the contents, but for now the canvas was all he had. He cradled the object for a moment, feeling its weight. Then, with trembling fingers, he untied the cord and reverently eased his greatest treasure from its hiding place.

The crown was crushed and broken, yet still beautiful. Its electrum surfaces shimmered a rich golden hue that was undiminished even by his quarters' pale overhead lighting array, and the shattered rubies were still captivating, their depths alight with flashes of crimson, scarlet and royal purple that made them seem almost alive. Scavenger ran his fingers lightly across its pitted surface. He knew that the stones and metals were precious and no doubt worth some money, but he didn't care about that. What mattered was that this was Starscream's—uniquely so. No other Decepticon leader had ever had a crown, and now it would be Scavenger's, a small piece of Starscream that he could have all to himself, to hold and admire whenever he felt like it.

A knock on the door brought him to his feet with a yelp. "Um… hello?" he asked tremulously, hastily tucking the crown back into the canvas bag. "Who's there?"

"It is I," came the quiet response.

The voice was literally the last one Scavenger would have expected to hear. If anything, he'd thought it might be a member of his team, come to give him slag for wasting time when he should be working. He subspaced the crown and edged to the door, taking a moment to glance through the security window before pressed the door release.

"Dirge?" he said, frowning behind his mask. "What are you doing here? I thought you were dead." Dirge and his trinemates had fared badly during a confrontation with Unicron, and Scavenger had assumed they were deactivated. The list of the dead was so numbingly long, however, that he could have easily missed the fact that Dirge's name wasn't on it. It wasn't as if they were friends or anything.

The dark blue Seeker inclined his head. "You would not be alone in that supposition," he acknowledged, the corners of his mouth lifting in a faint smile. His frame was indeed covered in welds and healing patches, and he was carrying himself stiffly, as though he was in pain. "I have come to you because I require assistance."

Scavenger narrowed his optics, not liking the sound of that. "Assistance with what?" he asked, praying that it wouldn't involve helping Dirge move any of _his_ possessions.

It wasn't just that Dirge creepy, although he was. A dark aura hung around him like a shroud, infecting anyone nearby with a sense of gloom and despair, and the mournful howl of his engines filled anyone within hearing range, Autobot and Decepticon alike, with morbid dread. There were even rumors that his touch could bring death. Scavenger wasn't sure he exactly believed those, but he'd always thought it better to keep his distance, just in case. And then there was Dirge's role as Crypt Master, the mech responsible for final observances for the dead. There was no telling _what_ he might have in his quarters that he'd want help with moving, and Scavenger really didn't want to find out.

"Starscream," was Dirge's response. He leaned closer, lowering his voice as he added, "You and I must take care of him."

"Take care of…? Wh… what do you—"

"I mean bury him," Dirge clarified.

Scavenger's mouth fell open behind his mask. "Why?" he asked. It was the first question that popped into his mind, and he could tell, by the way that Dirge's optic ridges pulled into a slight frown, that it was the wrong one.

"His remains were simply left," Dirge said. "That is far from ku'at."

"Far from koo-what?" Scavenger shook his head. "Look, I don't know what that means, but I'm not—"

"It _means_ ," Dirge cut in, "that our fallen should not be treated in such a way." He paused, glancing up and down the corridor, then lowered his voice as he added, "Especially not our fallen leader."

Scavenger tensed. "Don't say that!" he hissed. "You don't know who's listening! If anyone heard you talking about him that way they'd—" he broke off. "You need to leave. Right now."

"I am injured," Dirge said, gesturing to indicate his physical state. "I cannot do this on my own,"

"Well then, it's not getting done!" Scavenger shot back. "At least not by me. Get out of here! Scat! Shoo!"

Dirge didn't budge, and Scavenger, in desperation, took two strides forward and gave him a firm shove. Dirge stumbled backward and almost fell, but he was saved by his quick Seeker reflexes. He grabbed the edge of the door-frame and held on, using it to drag himself upright.

"I am not leaving," he said, wincing in obvious pain. "I once made a vow that if, when the time came, there was no one to care for his remains, I would be the one."

"Well that isn't my problem!" Scavenger snapped. He thumped the door release, trying to get it to close, but the safety sensors wouldn't let it with Dirge's fingers in the way.

Fingers.

Scavenger glanced at his own. Had he actually just _touched_ Dirge? The death-bringer? How big of an idiot could he be? He lunged for his work-bench, yanked one of the drawers open and rummaged until he found a box of mesh-wipes and a jar of solvent. He dunked a wipe in the solvent and began scrubbing at his hands.

"I didn't take you for the superstitious type," Dirge remarked from the doorway.

"I'm not! I just… just…" Scavenger glared at him. Maybe he _was_ superstitious, just slightly. His palms felt numb where they'd touched Dirge's chestplates, but then again, that could be an effect of the solvent. It was an old jar, probably past its expiration date. "Shut up!" he snarled as he redoubled his efforts, rubbing faster and harder. "Why can't you just leave me alone, you great, big, metallic _vulture_?"

Dirge's brow ridges shot up. "The Scavenger accuses _me_ of being a vulture," he said, his gaze sweeping around the room as if noting its contents. "How droll."

Scavenger flinched. It was at moments such as this that he saw his treasured collection as others might, as a chaotic jumble of useless items. He hated that feeling. "Just… just _go_!" he begged. "Please, just leave me alone and find someone else. I don't want any part of this."

"There is no one else," Dirge replied. He had settled his shoulder against the door jamb, a gesture that was clearly intended to prevent any further attempts at shutting him out, though it also looked as if he was leaning on it for support. His face looked pinched and tired, and somehow even more melancholy than it normally did. He vented a heavy sigh, and said, "Scavenger, I know what you have in your subspace."

"What I…?" Scavenger's voice choked off. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Please." Dirge tipped his helm to one side, studying Scavenger with inscrutable narrowed optics. "I saw you pick it up," he said. "I know you have it, and I cannot help wondering what Cyclonus or Galvatron might think if they learned that it is in your possession."

"You… you saw…?" Scavenger stared at Dirge. The Seeker's gaze was hypnotic, reminding Scavenger of stories he'd heard about predators that could hypnotize their prey with a mere look. He barely felt the rag slip from his numbed fingers. "Are you… _blackmailing_ me?"

"I suppose I am." Dirge pushed himself upright with a wince. "Assuming, then, that my attempt has been successful, I will need for you to follow me."

He hobbled stiffly away, not sparing so much as a backward glance. Scavenger glared at the empty doorway, then reached into his subspace, letting his fingers brush lightly against the rough canvas. No one was going to take it from him. Of that, he was absolutely determined, but that left him with little choice.

"Wait," he called out. He hurried to the doorway, then paused. He'd meant to lock it behind him, but what was the point? His teammates would only knock it down when they came to demolish the place. He took one long, backward glance at his possessions, and turned to follow in the footsteps of his blackmailer.


	2. Gathering What Remains

"It is not ku'at to steal from the dead," Dirge remarked some time later, as they trudged across the bridge that led to the Hall of Heroes.

"It wasn't stealing!" Scavenger retorted, glancing around nervously. They hadn't run into anyone else since leaving the command center at Darkmount, but he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. "It fell right at my feet," he added, guessing that his mere presence here was already tantamount to an admission of guilt. "No one else seemed to want it, and it's not like _he_ needed it anymore."

"It is said," Dirge replied, "that if the decedent cared greatly for the object taken, his spirit will linger between worlds, searching for it until he finds it."

Scavenger shuddered. "That's ridiculous!" he said, though it was hard to keep a telltale quiver of fear from his voice. "You can't possibly believe that."

"I never said that I did," Dirge answered, glancing back at him. Scavenger was walking a few steps behind, the better to keep an optic on him, though Dirge was moving with such obvious difficulty that he didn't seem to pose much of a threat. "You are the superstitious one," Dirge added, his lips twitching into the ghost of a smirk. "Do _you_ believe it?"

Scavenger realized that he was clutching at his subspace, as though he expected a pair of ghostly hands to reach in and snatch the crown away from him. "Of course not!" he snapped, forcing his arms back to his sides.

Dirge replied with a soft "Hmph," which might have been an indication of amusement, or contempt, or something else entirely. Scavenger found Dirge hard to read, in spite of the fact that he, like all Seekers, eschewed wearing a mask. Perhaps mechs who didn't wear them got used to hiding their emotions in other ways, Scavenger thought. He'd never been much good at reading Starscream, either.

They passed between the two great pillars that flanked the bridge, and entered the Hall itself. It was a large, open-air auditorium, shaped like an arrowhead and bordered by two rows of towering statues. These were of great Decepticon warlords, most of whose names Scavenger had either forgotten, or, quite possibly, never known. Their sightless gazes seemed to track their progress as they plodded toward the arrowhead's apex where the podium stood, cast in deep shadow by the towering superstructure that sheltered it.

The Hall was dark and empty, the only sound being the ringing of their footsteps against the polished steel pavement. It had been so different the last time he'd been here. Then, the podium had been brightly lit and the Hall itself crowded with Decepticons eager to hail Starscream as their new leader. Scavenger remembered how proud and excited he'd felt. He'd practiced the traditional trumpet fanfares longer and harder than any other member of his team, because he'd wanted everything to be perfect. Starscream deserved no less.

But then Galvatron had arrived. Scavenger had not yet known him by that name, of course. When he and his companions had swooped down into the midst of the gathering and interrupted the inauguration ceremony, they had simply been terrifying strangers. Galvatron had exchanged a few sharp words with Starscream, then transformed into a cannon and, with a single, deadly blast, had upended Scavenger's whole sense of reality.

He remembered thinking that he must be dreaming as he'd watched Galvatron crush the crown beneath his pede. He remembered glancing around at his fellow Decepticons, and wondering why none of them had moved. Surely someone ought to do, or at least _say_ something. This stranger had just barged into an official ceremony and murdered their chosen leader before their very optics, yet all any of them seemed able to do was to stand there staring like a bunch of stunned petrorabbits.

Not that Scavenger had been any exception. He remembered how he'd stood staring down at his trumpet, the end of which was still faintly smoking from a blast from one of Starscream's rifles. He knew in his spark that there was only one Decepticon who would have been brave enough to stand up to Galvatron in that moment, and that Decepticon was… Scavenger lifted his gaze to the top of the podium. Was it just his imagination that the shadows seemed especially dense around the spot where he knew Starscream's body lay?

"I can't do this," he said suddenly. The words came out without his even quite realizing it, and Dirge, who had by now reached the base of the steps, glanced back at him.

"I'm afraid you must," Dirge said, his tone surprisingly gentle. "You will become accustomed to the sight of death, as I have." He engaged his antigravs and kicked off with his less damaged leg, soaring to the top of the podium without bothering with the steps. Scavenger noticed how carefully he placed his feet as he settled, and shuddered. He didn't want to think about why.

"It's not that," he said, clenching his fists. He'd seen plenty of bodies, both Autobot and Decepticon alike. What he'd never seen was the body of someone he'd been, well, _intimate_ with. Someone he'd written poetry about, or tried to. "Why me?" he asked plaintively. "Why are you making _me_ do this?"

"It is always preferable that the decedent's friends and kin preside over the handling of the remains," Dirge replied. He reached into his subspace and drew out a plain metal urn, which he set down on the podium beside him. "Starscream had neither friends nor kin, so he has us."

"Us?" Scavenger echoed. There was something about the way Dirge had said that word, something he couldn't quite… " _You_?" It felt as if a missing puzzle piece had just clicked into place, but that couldn't possibly be right, it didn't make sense. "You and Starscream were… what, _lovers_?"

Dirge cocked an optic ridge. "I believe the expression 'frag buddies,' much as I dislike it, would be more accurate. Similar to the two of you, I suspect."

"Similar to… oh, _Primus_. You knew about… and the two of you were also…?" Scavenger's legs felt weak. "For how long? Wait, never mind, I don't even want to know! It's disgusting!"

"Disgusting?" Dirge's optics narrowed. "How so? Do you find it difficult to imagine that Dirge, the untouchable, might also have desires?"

 _Yes_ , Scavenger thought. It wasn't just hard to imagine, it was impossible. Perched there atop of the podium with his intakes hunched behind him like a pair of black, folded wings, Dirge looked exactly like the vulture Scavenger had accused him of being. Just the thought of _those_ hands, on Starscream's body… it was more than he could bear. He lunged toward the steps and barely noticed himself climbing. He wanted to scream, hit something, pound it into rubble the way Devastator would. He seized Dirge by his shoulders and shook, hard, not bothering to worry about the death-touch. What difference could it possibly make now?

"This… whole… time!" he snarled, shaking him. "I was writing poetry, trying to make him understand how I _felt_ , and you and he were…" He couldn't even say the words. "And you _knew_! You knew he was just using you, and yet you dragged me into this anyway! You're risking both our lives, and for what? He's _dead_! He doesn't care! He probably never cared about anyone in his whole life! He was just using both of us like he uses everyone, he was nothing but a—"

Scavenger broke off as his gaze fell on what lay just beyond where Dirge was standing. "Oh… _Primus_."

Somehow, it was worse than could ever have imagined. It wasn't so much the powdery gray ash, or the scattering of unrecognizable fragments, although those were bad enough. The worst part were the pieces that were still somewhat recognizable. Here, the fragment of a wingtip, its red and white markings faded now to dull grays. There, a few stray bits of purple cloth, their charred edges stirring in a faint breeze. Most horrifying of all was a single cracked optic right near his feet, its darkened lens staring sightlessly at the stars.

Scavenger's knees buckled, and he suddenly found himself clinging to Dirge's shoulders for support. Dirge caught his arms, bracing him as he began to sag, and then turned him away from the wreckage and guided him toward the edge of the platform. "Here." He pressed Scavenger's hand against one of the pillars that framed the edge of the dais. "Lean against this."

Scavenger did, heavily. His vents were coming in heaving gulps, and the stars were blurring into swirls of kaleidoscopic color. His tanks churned. "I think I'm gonna…"

"Go ahead," Dirge said. He had withdrawn his touch but was standing nearby, his hand resting on the pillar just behind Scavenger's shoulder. The gesture felt oddly reassuring for some reason, but Scavenger was in no condition to think about why. He had barely enough time to retract his mask before he lost control of his gag reflex and purged violently over the edge of the platform. When his tanks seemingly had nothing left to give, he sagged to his knees, leaning against the pillar. It felt pleasantly cool against his heated faceplates, and when the sobs began, he was powerless to hold them back. He pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped himself in a tight ball, folding his shovel-tail over his head as if it could somehow hide him from sight.

Dirge knelt stiffly beside him. "It's all right," he said quietly. "Just let it out."

Scavenger couldn't have done otherwise if he'd tried. Everything he'd cared about was gone. His world lay in ruins, shattered, and the mech he'd loved lay shattered along with it. He couldn't bring himself to care how weak or pathetic he must seem, yet Dirge's tone hadn't been mocking, and when his hand returned to Scavenger's arm in a light, questioning touch, Scavenger didn't pull away.

"It is not true, what they say about me. My touch does not bring death," Dirge said, as Scavenger twisted his head just far enough around to get a glimpse of him from the corner of one optic. Dirge's expression was calm and serious as he added, "I, too, once lost a loved one. I do understand."

Scavenger just nodded. Even if Dirge's touch did cause death, that hardly seemed to matter anymore. He felt dead inside anyway, and it was comforting, somehow, to not be completely alone at a moment like this. After a while, he mumbled, "At least now I know why he'd never kiss me."

"I don't think he _did_ kiss," Dirge replied. "He once told me that he didn't enjoy it."

"He told you that?"

"Aye."

"I thought he was just…" Scavenger trailed off. What _had_ he thought? Starscream had told him exactly the same thing, and more than once, but Scavenger had wanted so badly for it to be otherwise that he hadn't really listened. "I wanted him to notice me," he said softly. "I thought if he really looked, if he really _saw_ me, everything would change. But… he was just like everyone else. No one _sees_ me. Even my team acts like I'm invisible, and they'd probably just abandon me if there was some way they could form Devastator without me. I wanted Starscream to be different, but he just… wasn't."

"He was what he was," Dirge answered simply. "There has never been anyone else like Starscream, nor will there be again."

"I hate him."

"I think you also loved him."

Scavenger drew a shaky sigh. "Yeah. That too."

Dirge didn't answer. He kept his hand on Scavenger's arm, and when Scavenger's shaking began to subside, he said, "You are free to leave."

Scavenger gave him a startled look. "What?"

"I assumed that your feelings toward Starscream were similar to my own. I was wrong. I will not force you to do this against your will."

Dirge released Scavenger's arm and dragged himself to his feet, using the pillar for support, and walked unsteadily back to where Starscream's body lay. He knelt beside the remains, opened his tool kit and brought out a small hand-held brush and a trowel. They were a matched set, made from some dark metal with intricate silver inlays, and had an antique look about them. Working carefully, he began transferring scoopfuls of the remains into the waiting urn, and Scavenger shivered at the sound the fragments made, pinging off the urn's interior walls. Dirge's lips moved silently as he worked, as if he was offering a prayer. It was unsettling to watch, yet strangely moving at the same time.

Scavenger wondered, suddenly, how he ever could have compared this mech to a vulture. Kneeling there in the shadows, his hunched form bent beneath an unseen burden of sorrow, Dirge seemed more like a stately old raven. It occurred to Scavenger that throughout the past orn, he hadn't given a single thought to what would happen to Starscream's remains. It had seemed outside his realm of concern, a matter for someone else to worry about. Yet Dirge, who had seen Starscream as merely a 'frag buddy,' was risking his life in order to see that he was properly buried. Somehow, it seemed wrong to just walk away.

He pushed himself to his feet and hobbled to where Dirge knelt, being careful not to step on Starscream's remains, or to look at them too closely. Dirge tensed when Scavenger touched his arm, as if he'd become so absorbed in his task that he'd forgotten Scavenger was there. He glanced up, his gaze questioning.

"Um," Scavenger said, suddenly feeling awkward. "Do you have an extra set of those… things?" He pointed to Dirge's tools.

"No," Dirge said, looking even more surprised. "But you may use these, if you wish." He held them out, handles first. Scavenger took hold of them gingerly, trying not to think about the grayish powder that now clung to them.

"That's all I have to do? Just scoop, uh… _him_ … into the urn?"

"Yes," Dirge replied. "Be as thorough as you can. It is ku'at for the decedent's frame be interred in its entirety." He paused. "Thank you."

Scavenger just nodded. He sank to his knees, steeling himself to take over Dirge's grim task, and forced himself to finally, really look at what was left of Starscream. "I always wondered why he chose me," he said in a low voice. "I mean, he was…" he paused as his gaze arrived, once again, on that fractured wingtip. Even in its charred and broken state it had a certain, stark loveliness. "Perfect," he concluded softly.

Dirge snorted. "I can think of a number of descriptors for our late colleague, but that would not be among them."

"But you're risking your life for him."

"I made a vow."

"But why? You weren't in love with him."

"No," Dirge agreed, "but I was grateful that he never regarded me as untouchable." He rose with difficulty. "I am also certain there is someone who does love him, and if I were in that mech's position, I would not wish to find the remains of a loved one simply left. I would want to think that someone had cared."

" _Oh_." Someone else, Scavenger thought. He hadn't considered that. "Do you think Starscream also... cared... for this other person?"

"I know he did," Dirge answered firmly. "Do not take it to spark that he could not return your feelings. I believe his own spark was given long ago." As he spoke, he reached into his subspace and drew out a device that looked something like a jackhammer.

"Uh… what's that for?" Scavenger asked uneasily, watching as Dirge braced it against his shoulder.

"I need to crush some of the larger pieces so they will fit the urn," Dirge replied calmly. Then, apparently noticing Scavenger's horrified expression, he added, "It is regrettable, but necessary. You may wish to avert your optics."

He activated the device, and Scavenger quickly discovered that his tanks weren't quite as empty as he'd thought.


	3. Into the Crypt

Welcome to the third chapter, in which Scavenger makes a horrifying discovery about Dirge, and Starscream insists on making a cameo. Thanks so much, **Giddy** , for the very encouraging review! This is a strange little story to be sure, but I'm glad you've enjoyed it so far. :-)

* * *

 **Into The Crypt**

Scavenger watched numbly as Dirge tapped a code into the freight elevator's control panel. The ancient mechanism hummed to life, gave a slight shudder, and began its descent. Scavenger vented a sigh of relief as the streets of Kaon slipped from view, taking the stars along with them. He could finally relax a little. No one was going to come looking for them down here. At least, he didn't think so.

He hugged the urn, now filled with Starscream's remains, more snugly against his chest. It felt heavy in his arms, though not nearly as heavy as he thought it _should_ feel. Of course he knew the urn probably had a set of antigravs built into it somewhere, but Starscream's entire frame was in there. Shouldn't there be more _to_ it?

 _His spark_. That was the missing piece. Did a spark have weight? Was there substance to it, or was it completely ephemeral? And what did it mean that Starscream's had been given? Was it still given, even now, or would such a bond have crumbled along with his frame? He thought again of Starscream's bondmate, and felt a fresh stab of resentment toward the unknown mech.

"So who is he?" he asked. "This bondmate you mentioned."

"I cannot say," Dirge replied. He was standing with one arm braced against the wall, wincing slightly with every jolt and bounce the lift gave as it descended.

"Meaning you don't know?"

"Meaning that I cannot say."

"Is he someone I've met?" Scavenger persisted as he considered, not for the first time, his mental list of potentials. Dirge had as good as implied that the mech in question was still alive, so that eliminated some of the more obvious choices, such as Megatron or Starscream's trinemates. Dirge had also said that he thought Starscream's spark had been given _long ago_ , which weighed against the possibility of it being any of the younger mechs, such as the Stunticons. "He should be _here_ ," Scavenger said. "If he cares so much, then _he_ should be here to help bury him!"

Dirge gave him a long look. "Have you ever lost a bondmate?"

"No," Scavenger admitted. "I've never been bonded." The truth was that he'd never even been close, since Starscream had been his first, and only, lover.

"I did not think so."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Scavenger demanded.

The lift came to a halt. The doors rattled open and Dirge stepped into the small receiving area that lay beyond, picking his way carefully between the towering stacks of crates. These were filled with construction supplies, intended for Starscream's ambitious Crypt restoration project, which would now remain forever unfinished.

"If you had ever been bonded," Dirge said, "you would understand why Starscream's bondmate might not be able come here immediately."

"Fine," Scavenger muttered, glaring at the Seeker's back. Everyone seemed to have access to some kind of secret knowledge that had always eluded him. It wasn't his fault. It was just that no one had ever _wanted_ him, and this whole time he'd been thinking of Starscream as a potential mate, there had always been this other, shadowy presence lurking in the background. He'd never even stood a chance. The bitterness that came with that knowledge seeped into his voice as he added, "You know he was just doing us because he felt sorry for us. We're the two least fraggable mechs in the whole Decepticon army. "

"Least fraggable, hm?" Dirge cast an amused glance over his shoulder.

"Oh, come on," Scavenger said wearily. "You've got your death-thing and me… well. I'm just ugly."

"You're giving him too much credit. I think he just chose us because we weren't a threat."

 _Oh._ As if this entire situation hadn't been humiliating enough. "He fragged us because we were _safe_?"

"Safe isn't a bad thing," Dirge replied amicably. "We all need to feel safe every now and then."

"I didn't want to be safe!" Scavenger threw back at him. "I wanted it to be _more_ , I wanted…"

"I know."

They had arrived at the set of plain utility doors that would take them into the Crypt. It was one of several ways of getting in, though it was the one the Constructicons had used throughout the restoration attempt due to its proximity to the freight elevator. Dirge paused before the doors, his dark hand resting on the release panel. "We need to be quiet now," he warned.

Scavenger huffed. It was typical, he thought. His emotional world might be falling to pieces, but work, as always, came first. He stomped after Dirge as the Seeker stepped through the doors, which closed silently behind them, their outlines seeming to melt into the surrounding wall. The scale of the Grand Atrium was truly awe-inspiring. The oval-shaped room was massive, its vaulted ceiling lost in darkness. A ring of towering statues, each one taller than Devastator himself, guarded the perimeter, their unseeing gazes fixed on the great flame that roared and crackled at the center of the room. It was toward this flame that Dirge was determinedly limping.

Scavenger froze. "Hey wait!" he said, "We're not gonna—" He broke off as his too-loud voice echoed and re-echoed throughout the room.

Dirge gave him a warning look. "Going to what?" he asked in a low voice.

"Going to put him in _there_?" Scavenger whispered, pointing to the flame.

Dirge smiled faintly. "No." He hobbled to stand before the flame and bowed his head. Scavenger hung back, still clutching the urn protectively against his chest. He wondered if he should be offering a prayer, but he didn't know any. His own people's main form of religious observance consisted of building things, and besides, his mind was too filled with other, decidedly non-lofty thoughts.

It wasn't fair. None of this was. Maybe Dirge was right, and there _was_ some hush-hush secret known only to bonded mechs, but it still seemed wrong that Starscream's bondmate wasn't here. He thought about the crown, which was still safely hidden within his subspace. If this supposed bondmate _was_ here, he'd probably want it. He'd probably think he was entitled. Well, Scavenger decided, that wasn't going to happen. He might not have been Starscream's mate, but he was still the one he'd turned to, the one who had made him feel… safe. And he'd keep the crown safe, too. He'd earned that right.

He realized that Dirge was watching him. "What?" he muttered, suddenly self-conscious of the fact that he had yet to put his mask back in place. He'd kept his face unshielded while they were gathering the remains, having feared that his tanks might once again rebel, and he hadn't yet put it back into place. Now he wondered if his expression might have somehow betrayed what he was thinking.

"You are wrong, you know."

Scavenger tensed, bracing himself to go on the defensive. "About what?" he asked.

"About being ugly."

Scavenger's shovel-tail hit the floor with a clang that resounded, gong-like, through the chamber. "Wh..what?"

Dirge glanced aside and made a small, embarrassed sound at the back of his throat. "Shall we?" he suggested, as he started toward the doors at the far end of the chamber.

Scavenger stared after him for a moment, then tucked his tail up behind his back where it couldn't cause any more trouble, and tiptoed after him. He supposed that deep down, he'd known all along that they would end up in the room beyond that door, and this was the part he'd dreaded most. He knew that room all too well. Of the Crypt's many halls and galleries, it was the largest and the grandest. Only the very highest-ranking Decepticons found their resting places here. It was reserved for warlords and great heroes, and so it was also where the most intensive restoration efforts had been focused.

Scavenger shuddered as he recalled what some of those efforts had ultimately entailed. He glanced around uneasily as they stepped across the threshold, half expecting the enraged spirits of Murdron, Dery, Cannibaron, and the others whose markers had been disturbed to swoop down on him. Dirge, however, seemed unconcerned about this possibility. He headed straight for the trio of newly installed markers at the far side of the chamber and paused beside the third, the one that still lacked a statue, and rested his palm lightly on its flat upper surface.

"You can leave the urn here, for now," he said.

Scavenger froze. " _Here_?" he echoed. "You can't put him _here_!"

"Where else would you suggest I put him?" Dirge asked, gesturing to their surroundings.

Scavenger glanced around. There were, in fact, no other places _to_ put Starscream, since the other two newer platforms were already occupied by statues of Megatron and Thundercracker, respectively. This was the only spot available, but that certainly didn't make it _right_.

"But… this is Skywarp's marker."

Dirge shrugged. "I do not see his name on it."

"I was here! I was standing right here, on this very spot, when you guys talked about this!"

Scavenger had, in fact, been a bit closer to Megatron's statue at the time, since the Constructicons had just finished installing it. He'd been shoveling construction debris away from the marker's base when the sound of a loud, familiar voice—one which he'd often heard described as shrill, harsh, and grating, though Scavenger personally preferred _stentorian_ , which sounded more dignified, not to mention poetic—had prompted him to transform out of his power-shovel mode and snap to attention.

"So let's see it, then!" Starscream had said as he stalked in from the Grand Atrium with Dirge at his heels. Starscream, unlike other mechs, seemed to hold no particular awe of this place, nor its acoustics. His voice and footsteps rang through the entire chamber, seeming to shake dust from every shadowy corner.

 _Our new leader_ , Scavenger thought, admiring Starscream as he strode up to Megatron's statue and paused before it with his fists on his hips. He looked every bit the leader he now was, and Scavenger couldn't have been more proud of him. The damage he'd sustained during the battle at Autobot City was long gone, and his frame had been polished to a deep luster. Scavenger envied whoever had done the polishing, but it was hard to argue with the results. Starscream was a vibrant presence even here, in the darkness of the Crypt, and his fearlessness was somehow inspiring.

"Ah, yes," Starscream said, glancing the statue up and down. "A very lifelike portrayal of our late, 'great' leader. Perhaps a touch more _effective_ than the original, considering that all this one has to do is stand here, but that's no criticism of your artistry. You have done a magnificent job, Dirge."

Dirge, who was now standing just to his right, offered a slight bow. "I am honored."

Starscream continued to gaze at the statue in silence, and Scavenger, being as close to Starscream as he now was, was perhaps the only mech in the room to notice the slight flicker in his expression. For just a moment, it seemed as if the smirk faltered and was replaced by something else entirely. Something almost… _haunted_. It was gone again so quickly that Scavenger questioned whether he'd really seen it or if it was simply a trick of the light, but he suddenly felt like an intruder. He wanted to back away, but also didn't wish to draw attention to himself by moving.

One of the unspoken agreements of his relationship with Starscream was that they did not acknowledge one another in public. Scavenger had found this hurtful in the beginning, when Starscream had first begun making his sporadic visits to Scavenger's quarters, but he was used to it by now. His only regret was that those visits had become less frequent as Starscream's leadership obsession had grown, and they had stopped entirely a few months prior to the Decepticons' departure from Earth. Scavenger was hoping this would change once Starscream was inaugurated. Surely with his long-held ambition finally realized, he would have time to focus on their relationship and, just possibly, make it public.

He was still trying to decide what to do when Starscream suddenly spun away from him, and the statue, and stalked along the gallery. "So where are the others going?" he asked, still not bothering to modulate his voice as he glanced around.

"Others?" Dirge asked.

"Yes, Dirge; as you might recall, I _specifically_ ordered that the markers for Thundercracker and Skywarp be placed in this chamber, the highest position of honor available to any Decepticon!"

"Perhaps there has been a misunderstanding," Dirge replied. "There was space for _two_ additional markers in this chamber. One of them obviously had to be for Megatron, so I made alternative arrangements for—"

" _Alternative_ arrangements? Let me see that!" Starscream snatched the datapad Dirge was holding and began flipping through floor plans of the Crypt's various levels. He paused on one and gave a sharp, angry flick with his wings. "Down _there_?" he snarled, turning on Dirge. "In the lower east wing? _There_?"

"That was as close as I could place them to their clan and creator-trine," Dirge replied. "This Crypt is very old, and finding two spots side by side is no easy matter."

"They belong _here_!" Starscream stomped over to the one spot that remained empty. There was a tomb platform already in place, since Dirge had ordered the Constructicons to build one, but there wasn't, as yet, a statue. Starscream hopped up onto the platform himself and stood with his feet planted wide, his gaze defiant. "I won't accept anything less."

"But there is only space there for one marker," Dirge argued. "We could bring _one_ of them up here—possibly Thundercracker, since he was the higher ranking of the two, but—"

"You mean split them up? They did _everything_ together! They quartered together, fought together, flew together, and even—" Starscream broke off, his hands clenching into fists. That faltering look was back, and Scavenger was certain now that it was more than just a trick of the light. "Died together," he finished, in a much quieter tone.

Scavenger frowned behind his mask. Was this Starscream's reason for wanting the Crypt re-opened? He had even gone so far as to postpone his inauguration by an entire day-cycle so that the Constructicons would have extra time to work on it, and he'd overseen the project himself, checking their progress regularly and berating them if he thought they weren't working fast enough.

Throughout, he'd seemed agitated, jumpy, and—if such a thing were possible—even more easily angered than normal. He'd even yelled at Scavenger once, though Scavenger had instantly forgiven him. He knew Starscream was just like that when he was, well… upset. Except that didn't make sense. What did Starscream have to be upset _about_? He finally had everything he'd always wanted. Shouldn't he be happy?

"I do understand," Dirge said, his tone sincere. "And yet, there is simply no space here to put two additional markers."

"Then _make_ space!" Starscream exploded. "Move some of these old _rust-buckets_ ," he gestured to the surrounding forest of statues, "and you'll have plenty of room for two additional markers! Easy!"

Dirge stiffened, and Scavenger thought he even paled slightly. "Starscream," he said, "it is hardly ku'at to—"

Starscream leaped from the platform, grabbed one of Dirge's intakes and hauled him so they were face to face. "That's _Lord_ Starscream to you," he growled, "and I don't _care_ about your stupid taboos! Make it happen, and that's—"

"Um, Starscr… er, sir?" It was Rumble, walking in from the Grand Atrium.

Starscream released Dirge's intake. "What do _you_ want?" he demanded, glaring down at the small Decepticon.

"Couple things. For one, we really _do_ have to check the fitting for your cape."

"I've already told you, I have more important things to concern myself with right now!"

"Your inauguration's next day-cycle," Rumble argued. "C'mon, it's tradition. The purple cape represents, like, the mantle of Decepticon leadership being passed down."

"There isn't going to be an inauguration," Starscream replied. A stunned silence fell as Starscream glanced back at Megatron's statue, optics narrowing as he added, with a smile, "It's going be a _coronation_ , and I have absolutely no intention of following in Megatron's footsteps of folly!"

Scavenger's audials perked up at that. Starscream had given very little indication as to what his plans were now that he was the leader, though of course rumors were flying thick and fast. Theories ran the gamut, everything from launching an all-out attack on the Autobots' moon base, which had long been a sore point between Starscream and their former leader, to establishing peace talks with the Prime, if he still lived, and finally putting an end to the war. Secretly, Scavenger was hoping for the latter, but Starscream hadn't spoken to him of any possible future scenarios. He supposed he would have to be patient and wait for the ceremony like everyone else.

"You said there were a couple of things," Starscream said to Rumble. "What's the other one?"

"Oh yeah," Rumble said. "Soundwave said to tell you that Laserbeak spotted Shockwave apprahendin' a couple Autobots."

"That's the _second_ thing you saw fit to tell me?"

"Yeah, well, I guess he's gonna interrogate 'em, and—"

"Oh, I'm sure he _will_ ," Starscream interrupted, his voice sinking to a dangerous purr. "Tell Soundwave to send him a communique congratulating him on his recent capture, and that he is to await my arrival before commencing any questioning. I will oversee the interrogations personally."

"Y…yes, boss," Rumble said, looking puzzled. His optics seemed to go out of focus for a moment, and Scavenger guessed that he was communicating with Soundwave. "Done," he said after a moment.

"Good. As if that fool Shockwave could accomplish anything without my supervision," Starscream said. He started toward the exit with his wings swept back and his head high, then paused mid-stride and turned back to Dirge.

"They belong together, and they belong _here_ ," he said. "Do whatever it takes to make it happen."

With that, he spun on a heel-thruster and disappeared into the Grand Atrium, and that was the last Scavenger saw of him until the inauguration itself. Several tombs had been shifted to make space for an extra marker, a task that none of the Constructicons had been comfortable doing, though orders were orders. Thundercracker's memorial had been set in place first, and the Constructicons had built a platform for Skywarp next to it. They had run out of time, however, and Skywarp's platform remained without a statue. Now, standing here alone with Dirge, it seemed to Scavenger that he was the only one left to enforce what had turned out to be one of Starscream's final wishes.

"He wanted Skywarp to go here," he said. "He wanted them together."

"And indeed, they would have been," Dirge answered calmly, "had Starscream not interfered."

"But…" Scavenger stared at the empty platform with a growing sense of unease. Something about this wasn't adding up. "If both TC _and_ Skywarp were supposed to be somewhere else, then… who was _this_ one for?"

Dirge glanced to the side, not answering.

Scavenger's mind flashed back to the image of Starscream standing right here, atop this very platform, and his spark clenched with sudden horror.

"You…!" He took a stumbling step backward, clutching the urn in front of himself as much for his own protection as for Starscream's. "You _knew_!"


	4. Below the Horizon

Welcome to the fourth chapter, in which Scavenger learns a few illuminating facts about our ever-mysterious Crypt Master.

* * *

 **Below The Horizon**

"I did know," Dirge admitted. "I knew that Starscream was going to die. If not exactly how, or when, I knew it would be soon. That is the reason why my touch is feared. Not because I cause death, but because Primus has blessed, or perhaps cursed me, with the ability to know when death is near."

Scavenger kept backing away, still clutching the urn in front of his spark. What Dirge was saying sounded fantastical, yet Scavenger sensed a horrifying ring of truth behind his words. In any case, he couldn't deny the evidence of his own optics. The empty platform was right there in front of him, as implacable as death itself.

"You knew because you… you'd _touched_ him?"

"Aye."

"You touched _me_!" Scavenger wailed. And he had _allowed_ it, hadn't he? He'd even welcomed it, in spite of Dirge's foreboding reputation and his history with Starscream. Was he _that_ desperate for affection? Knowing the answer to be _yes_ , he added, in a small voice, "Am _I_ going to die?"

"We all are, Scavenger."

"Yes! I know _that_ , but—"

"May I?" Dirge asked. He reached toward Scavenger and paused with his hand hovering in midair, just in front of Scavenger's spark.

Scavenger shrank from it, his optics wide. "What are you going to do?"

"I would need to touch your chest in order to answer your question. You will not be harmed by it, I promise."

Scavenger stared at the hand, and finally, reluctantly, moved the urn just far enough for Dirge to place two fingertips lightly against his chest. The Seeker shuttered his optics for a moment, then opened them again with a slight shake of his head. "Not soon," he said.

"Not _soon_? What does _that_ mean?"

"It means that your death is below the horizon. I cannot yet perceive it."

"Below… what?"

"Ah. Perhaps it is an analogy better suited to flight-frames. When an object is said to be below a planet's horizon, that means that it is still hidden by the planet's curvature. As one flies closer, the object will gradually become visible, seeming to rise out of the horizon itself. An optical illusion, if you will. When I say that your death is below the horizon, what that means is that it is far enough away that I cannot yet perceive it."

"Oh." Scavenger pondered this. He wasn't entirely sure if he understood Dirge's analogy, much less why he felt inclined to believe it, but for some reason he found it reassuring. "So Starscream's death was… _above_ the horizon?"

"Yes. I first began to notice it while we were stationed on Earth. It gradually grew stronger, until it was impossible for me to be near him without… _sensing_ it."

"But… if you _knew_ ," Scavenger said haltingly, "why didn't you warn him?"

"Do you think he would have listened?"

Scavenger looked at the urn. "Probably not," he admitted, "but if you didn't at least _try_ to tell him, isn't that pretty much the same as murdering him yourself?"

"I wish it worked that way," Dirge said with a low sigh. "I have tried to warn others in the past. Some believed me and some did not, but it has never done any good. I have concluded that when death is ready to find you, it will." He paused, and there was such deep sorrow in his gaze that Scavenger's fear ebbed slightly. "May I show you something?" he asked quietly.

Scavenger considered the question. This strange mech, whom he'd held in such fear until just a quarter joor ago, had shown him more kindness in the space of a few breems than Scavenger was used to receiving in vorns. Even knowing what he did now, there was something in him that made it impossible to turn away. He found himself giving a slight nod.

Dirge motioned to the platform. "Leave him here," he directed. "We will come back shortly. Time is of the essence, but what I have to show you will not take long."

Scavenger set the urn down as gently as he could, not wishing not to jar its contents. He thought again of Starscream standing on this very platform, in just the spot where his statue would soon be. There was something so eerie about this.

"Do you think _he_ knew?" Scavenger asked, as he followed Dirge toward the lift doors at the far side of the chamber.

"That he was going to die?"

"Yes," Scavenger said. "I mean, he was in such a rush to get through the ceremony that he wouldn't even let us finish our trumpet fanfare."

"You think he might have rushed because he sensed something?"

"I don't know," Scavenger added as they boarded the lift, and it began taking them down into the lower reaches of the Crypt. "But... that thing that he said to Galvatron. Do you remember that?"

"If I recall, he asked Galvatron if he was Megatron."

"That's kind of a strange thing to ask, isn't it? It's almost as if he was… I don't know, _expecting_ it to be Megatron."

"As if he expected Megatron to punish him," Dirge agreed thoughtfully. "Perhaps you are right. I certainly thought that was his reason for wanting the Crypt re-opened in such haste. It seemed as if he was paying a penance." Dirge fell silent for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. "You watched him carefully," he said at last.

"I always did."

And yet, Scavenger thought, as he watched the levels slip past, perhaps he had never _seen_ him. It was clear enough now, all the ways in which Starscream had shown that he didn't return Scavenger's feelings. How could you watch someone for as long, and as closely, as Scavenger had watched Starscream, and yet never truly _see_ them?

The lift came to a stop. The doors opened and Dirge stepped through, motioning for Scavenger to follow. This was an area of the Crypt that Scavenger knew fairly well, because it was where the Crypt Master's foundry was located. He'd come down here a number of times throughout the restoration project in order to collect sections of the various statues as they were cast. It wasn't toward the foundry that Dirge was leading him now, however. He was heading in the opposite direction, down a short corridor that opened into a cavernous gallery. A towering energon fountain, shaped in an abstract form that resembled wings, dominated the space, and the gallery was filled with nooks and alcoves that led off from it in all directions

"This is where the majority of Seekers are interred," Dirge explained. "Each of these alcoves and side-passages belongs to a different familial clan. There," he said. "That is Skywarp's marker."

He was pointing to a niche set into the wall near the entrance of one of the passages. Two platforms stood side by side within the alcove, though only one had a statue. Scavenger knew he would have recognized Skywarp's marker instantly, even if Dirge hadn't pointed it out. On first glance, the statue appeared to be standing at military attention, though a closer inspection revealed a mischievous curl to its lips and the fact that one hand, half-hidden behind its back, was holding a slingshot.

"I remember that slingshot," Scavenger said. "He once used it to pelt the Constructicons with cryo-condor eggs. _Rotten_ ones," he added, with a slight shudder at the memory. It had taken several vigorous scrubbing sessions in the washracks to get rid of the stench.

"I recall that," Dirge said, with a small smile. "I believe Starscream eventually confiscated the slingshot, but I thought it would be fitting to include as part of his memorial."

"It is," Scavenger agreed.

"That second platform was to be Thundercracker's," Dirge added, a little sadly. "I cast the statues so they would appear to be in conversation. If I had time, I would move Thundercracker's down here, so they could be together."

They fell silent for a moment, but then Dirge vented a soft huff of air. "We should not linger. What I wanted to show you is this way."

Scavenger followed Dirge's halting steps to one of the smaller passages. The statues lining this passage were mostly grouped in threes, and were of mechs similar in appearance to Dirge himself, with the distinctive conical helm assembly that was typical of Seekers from the northern hemisphere of Cybertron. "Is this… _your_ clan?" Scavenger asked hesitantly.

"No. My own clan's memorial was in Protihex and was destroyed long ago, along with the rest of our aerie. I will not be able to return there before we are forced to leave Cybertron, and so I will only be able to pay respects to them in my prayers."

He paused in front of one of the markers. Glancing up, Scavenger saw that this statue, like those near it, resembled Dirge in most respects, though slight differences could be found in the shape of the wings, the breadth of the chest and shoulders, and the contours of the face. The expression, too, was different. Where Dirge's features seemed weighted with sorrow, this mech's expression appeared warm and almost playful. Beneath one arm, he carried a _sainu_ , a stringed instrument traditional to many Seekerish forms of music.

"Who is… _was_ he?" Scavenger asked.

"He was Zephyr, my bondmate," Dirge replied. "He was a bard of my people, a poet and teller of stories from Uraya. He and I met while I was in that city, apprenticing to become a priest. When the war started, our clan decided to fly south to defend Vos, as we knew it would be a high-priority target for the Senate.

"Zephyr wanted to go with them, but I knew he wasn't sparked for war any more than I. To make things worse, I had been having terrors during the night, images of Zephyr dying in a fiery inferno. I did not know what the visions meant, but one of the Temple clerics told me that there are those among our people who can prophesy the fate of others. She told me that my visions could be a warning.

"I implored Zephyr to stay and help protect the elders and younglings while the rest of our clan flew to war. He refused at first, saying that if my visions were prophetic, then he would prefer to die at my side rather than alone, but then—" Dirge broke off, his frame tensing noticeably. "Zephyr was a Singularity, you see."

Scavenger didn't see at all, and the look he gave Dirge must have said as much, because the Seeker went on to explain:

"Usually, Seekers only have offspring through a three-way mating between trine members. It is one of the reasons why trines are considered sacred. A Singularity is a Seeker without a trine. My people used to consider them freaks, and not least because they can, on extremely rare occasions, become sparked when just one other spark is present."

"You found out that he was carrying?"

"Aye. And he chose to stay, as I had asked, for the sake of our youngling."

"What happened?" Scavenger asked, already dreading the answer.

"The Senate surprised us. They launched an attack against Uraya, and our village, our aerie, everything… all was laid waste. I was halfway to Vos when it happened, so I did not find out right away. All I knew was that I was flying one moment, and the next my spark was being torn in half. I crashed, and nearly died. I _wanted_ to die, because I… I knew."

Scavenger dropped his gaze to the floor, a fresh pang of sadness rising in his spark. "I'm sorry."

"It has been a long time," Dirge replied. "And yet," he paused, a small smile gracing his lips, "I miss his voice, and his songs… and his laugh." He glanced at Scavenger. "If I might have just a moment? I do not know when, or if, I will be able to come here again."

"Oh!" Scavenger said. "Um, of course."

He walked back out into the main gallery, though he couldn't resist a backward glance. As he watched from the corner of one optic, he saw Dirge approach the statue and stand for a moment with his head bowed and his forearms crossed above his spark, his lips moving once again in silent prayer. Scavenger's gaze fell, for the first time, on an empty platform next to the statue of Zephyr. A shiver ran through him. He could guess who that was reserved for.

Was Dirge simply marking time, waiting to be reunited with his beloved? The thought was terribly sad, yet at the same time, stirring. It was the stuff of poetry, and from a mech who had seemed, until this moment, the very least likely source of such things. As he watched, he saw Dirge place both hands on the statue's foot and bend, creakily, to press his cheek to the lifeless metal.

Scavenger _did_ glance away then, realizing that he was intruding on something deeply personal. How could he have been this wrong about Dirge? Not long ago, it had been impossible to imagine him as someone with desires, as someone capable of love. Could he be equally wrong about Starscream's bondmate? He supposed he had to at least allow for that possibility, to give the unknown mech the benefit of the doubt.

"Is there anyone here to whom you wish to pay respects?"

Scavenger jumped. Even limping, Dirge had walked up behind him so quietly that Scavenger hadn't known he was there. When he turned and looked at him, he saw that the dark Seeker's features were set, once again, in their usual impassive expression.

"Not that I can think of," he said in reply to the question.

"You do not have kin interred here?"

"No, my people don't use this Crypt. Our burial customs are pretty different."

Dirge's optics lit with interest. "I would be fascinated to hear about them sometime," he said, with frank sincerity. "However, I believe we must now make haste. The war-time interment ceremony which we will use is not itself lengthy, but placing the statue is going to be tricky, especially with just the two of us."

He hobbled back the way they'd come, with Scavenger following close on his heels. When they came to the door of the foundry, where Scavenger and the other Constructicons had arrived to pick up newly cast pieces of various statues, Scavenger stopped to wait outside. Dirge paused, halfway across the threshold, and glanced back at him.

"You are allowed inside now," he said with a hint of a smile.

"Isn't it top secret?" Scavenger asked. The doors had been kept sealed throughout the restoration project, with no one but Dirge being allowed so much as a glimpse inside.

"It _was_ secret," Dirge replied, "though primarily, it was a secret I was keeping from Starscream. I could not have allowed him to catch wind of what I was working on here. You will see why in a moment. Come."

He stepped inside, motioning for Scavenger to follow. Scavenger hesitated.

"You're sure it's, um… ku'at for me to go in there?"

Dirge laughed. It was a surprising sound, coming from him, and was startlingly warm and jovial. "Of course," he said. "There is nothing un-ku'at about allowing a fellow craftsmech into my workshop. I would, in fact, consider it an honor."

He turned and walked inside, letting the doors swing closed behind him. Scavenger stared at the doors for a moment, and realized that he was slightly _afraid_ of going into the foundry. Of course, standing alone in the dark corridor wasn't that much better, so he pushed the doors open and set pede, for the very first time, in the Crypt Master's private workshop.


	5. The Summoning

The fifth chapter, in which the ritual begins, and then quickly takes a turn that startles even Dirge.

 **AN:** Thanks to everyone who has left reviews! I usually don't get many at ffnet, so I'm feeling quite spoiled by the lovely comments this story has received. To **WrenchWielder** , thanks so much! You're right, this story definitely is a teaser (or side story, I guess) for the main series I'm writing, the next installment of which should be coming up, er... soonish. (I'm hoping to post the first chapter of it before the end of the year; put it that way. Wish me luck!) To **Guest,** wow, thank you! I shed a few tears myself, just because Starscream's death in the Movie upset me so much. I wanted to give him a (somewhat) decent funeral, or at least the best that I could manage, given the constraints of canon. To **Miratete** , thank you! :-) I've always felt that the show has a lot of unexplored potential, including the spiritual implications that go along with the idea of robots being alive and having souls. I love delving into those kinds of things, so I'm glad you're enjoying it! And now, without further ado...

* * *

 **The Summoning**

Whatever Scavenger might have expected a Crypt Master's private workshop to look like, this was not it. There were no corpses lying partially dissected on slabs, nor racks bristling with sinister-looking tools, nor jars with unidentifiable shapes floating in murky liquid. It was actually far more similar to the Constructicons' own suite of workshops than he would have cared to admit, and most of the tools on display were ones that he used himself.

"Well, come in," Dirge prompted again, when Scavenger continued to hover just inside the doors.

Dirge was standing by what was possibly the most surprising piece of equipment in the room, a large-scale 3-D replicator. Hook had a much smaller one in his medical bay, which he used to make temporary replacement parts so that injured mechs could carry on with their duties while repairs were being made. Those "temporary" parts occasionally became permanent when lack of access to cybertronium alloy made it impossible to build true replacements. This caster was far larger than Hook's, taking up most of the room's rear wall. It looked about as ancient as everything else around here, though unlike most of the room's other equipment, it had been meticulously cleared of dust.

"If you were expecting bodies, I'm afraid there are none," Dirge said. "If there were any, they would be in the preparation room, which is on the second level. I would show it to you, but we do not have time."

"Oh! Um… that's too bad," Scavenger said as he finally edged a little farther into the room. "So what happens in here?"

"This is where the statues are made," Dirge said. "Come." He nodded for Scavenger to approach. "I would like to get your opinion of my work."

"My _opinion_?" Scavenger echoed.

"Aye."

Scavenger's apprehension doubled. He was used to doing as he was told, not to being asked for his opinion on things. "I'll do my best," he said as he shuffled forward.

"That is all I ask," Dirge assured him. He activated the console screen, and an image of Starscream appeared.

Scavenger stopped in his tracks, staring. It wasn't really an image of Starscream himself, but a very detailed three-dimensional model that was clearly based on holos taken during his coronation. He was wearing his crown and cape and was standing proudly, just as he'd done atop the podium during that last moment before… _No_ , Scavenger told himself, pushing the memory fiercely aside. He wasn't going to think about that right now.

"Perhaps now you can see why I could not allow Starscream to know what I was doing in here," Dirge said with a wan smile. "What do you think?"

"It's… uh, good," Scavenger said.

"Hmph," Dirge snorted. "That does not sound like resounding approval."

"Okay, it's _very_ good," Scavenger amended.

A furrow appeared between Dirge's optics. He was leaning rather heavily on the console, Scavenger noticed, and with the lighting being better in here than it was elsewhere in the Crypt, it was easy how haggard he looked. He looked utterly worn out, though his optics still glowed with faint amusement as he observed Scavenger.

"I would like to know what you really think," he said. "Not only did you observe Starscream closely during his life, but you are, at least for the purposes of this ceremony, his chief mourner."

It was Scavenger's turn to frown. "That's really a thing?"

"It is now," Dirge answered with a half-smile.

Chief mourner? Well, Scavenger thought, if that was to be his title, he'd better do the very best job that he could. He studied the template on screen, observing the haughty tilt of the chin, the faint sneer, the gaze fixed on some infinitely distant, unseen goal.

"I think…" Scavenger began, then trailed off with a sigh. "I mean, it _is_ good. It's really good."

"But?"

"But…" Scavenger scrunched his brow as he tried to think of a way to explain what he was thinking. "That's the Starscream everyone _thought_ they knew, if they just took him at face value. But if you looked closer, like I did, there was just… more _to_ him than that."

"Go on," Dirge prompted.

"Well… do you remember when he came into the Crypt to look at Megatron's statue?"

Dirge inclined his head in a nod. "It was… memorable."

"Yeah," Scavenger agreed, "it was." He went on to describe the odd look that he'd seen flash across Starscream's features as he'd gazed upon Megatron's statue, and then again later, when he'd argued with Dirge about the placement of Skywarp's and Thundercracker's markers.

"Those are excellent observations," Dirge said, when Scavenger had finished. "I did not notice at the time, as I was distracted by the argument over tomb placements, and by the way Starscream had jumped on top of his own marker to have that discussion with me. I believe, however, that I have seen the expression you describe. Allow me a moment."

He turned to the console, his dark fingers moving over the controls in a long-practiced dance. New images flashed across the screen, and Scavenger watched in amazement as the template for the statue re-formed itself before his very optics, almost as if by magic. When Dirge stepped back again, just a few klicks later, Scavenger's mouth dropped open in amazement.

Apart from the crown, the image on the screen was now an exact representation of the moment Starscream had leaped on top of his own marker platform. His fists were clenched into fists, as they'd been then, and that odd, faltering expression he'd worn then was hinted at beneath his habitual veneer of arrogance.

"That's… perfect," was all Scavenger was able to say. And it was.

Dirge inclined his head. "I am honored. It will mean re-casting much of the statue, of course, but I believe the results will be worth it."

"Wait—you'd already _made_ it?" Scavenger glanced around, and noticed, for the first time, the anti-grav sled that hovered nearby, loaded with shrouded pieces of what was was obviously a statue. "Why didn't you say so?"

"I did not wish to bias your opinion," Dirge replied calmly. He flicked a few more controls, and the replicator hummed into life. "There," he said. "The chamber will automatically cast the additional pieces that we need. In the meantime, we can conduct the ceremony and erect those parts of the statue which remain unchanged."

"Which parts are those?" Scavenger asked, glancing mournfully over the pile.

"Just the lower portion of the legs, I fear," Dirge said, pointing them out. "Even the thighs will need to be re-cast due to the altered angle of the hips."

"And the rest will just go to waste?"

"Normally I would re-use the materials, but since this statue is the last that will ever be made here, then… yes." Dirge shrugged. "I believe it is more important to memorialize Starscream in a manner that befits his complexity."

Scavenger vented a sigh. He hated to see materials wasted, even more so when those materials happened to be shaped into a likeness of Starscream, but he supposed there wasn't much choice. Besides which, the new design for the statue _was_ much better. He bent and clamped antigravs onto the two wrapped packages that Dirge had pointed out, then lifted them carefully and followed Dirge back to the lift.

"So you started out by studying to become a priest?" Scavenger asked as they rode back to the main level.

"Indeed," Dirge replied. "I did become one, in fact. Making preparations for the dead is considered a form of priestcraft. A specialization, if you will. I apprenticed under the Crypt Master at Uraya until the war came. Once it did…" he shrugged. "I did not think, at first, that I was prepared to take on the full mantle of Crypt Master, but my teacher was among the dead, and there were so many in need of interment. Sometimes life chooses for us, whether we believe we are prepared, or no."

The lift came to a halt. The doors opened and Dirge hobbled back out into the grand gallery. The urn was just where they'd left it, sitting atop the platform that was to become Starscream's final resting place. Scavenger found himself clutching the legs of the statue more tightly in his arms, as if he feared that the real Starscream, who was now inside the urn, might somehow be able to perceive the two wrapped objects, and know what they were.

"Please unwrap the legs and set them on top," Dirge requested. "We will not weld them in place just yet, as I may need to adjust their positioning once we add the other pieces."

Scavenger nodded. He lifted the urn from the platform and gently set it in Dirge's waiting arms, then arranged the legs as well as he could. The act of placing them on top of the marker gave Starscream's death a certain, sobering finality, and Scavenger wondered if this was the reason why he'd given no thought, at first, to what would happen to Starscream's remains. That was a youngling's way of coping, he knew. Refuse to think about something, and you can pretend that it isn't real. A grown mech, however, had to face such things. He had to gather what remained and move on… somehow.

"It looks… weird," he said, when he at last stepped back to observe the results. He had subspaced the ropes, wrappings and antigravs for use later, when they returned to the foundry for the other pieces.

"Agreed," Dirge said. "Given these less-than-ideal circumstances, however, we must simply do what we can." He bent to place the urn inside the round opening at the front of the platform, but then froze with a stifled gasp.

"Is it okay if I do it?" Scavenger asked.

Dirge nodded with clenched dentae, and when Scavenger took the urn from him, he immediately seized the edge of the platform to hold himself up. His legs were trembling, and his dark face was set in a mask of pain.

Scavenger knelt and set the urn carefully inside the small recess that had been created for it within the platform. It fit perfectly, and it occurred to him that Dirge must even have foreseen the _manner_ of Starscream's death, since he had ordered the platform built to house an urn rather than a full body. The thought unsettled Scavenger, though not in quite the same way that it would have just a few breems earlier, when he'd first realized the true nature of Dirge's "gift."

"I… I believe that I will need your help with the interment ceremony," Dirge admitted softly as Scavenger straightened.

"Just tell me what to do."

Dirge drew a small box from his subspace, opened it, and handed Scavenger a palm-sized disk made of dark, silver-inlaid metal. "This is the censer," he said. "Please set it upon the altar."

Scavenger, guessing that he could only mean the platform, rose on the tips of his pedes and set the disk between the statue's feet. He glanced at Dirge, who nodded his approval and handed him two more items; a small jar of red powder, and a truly ancient-looking strike-stone.

"This powder is a type of incense," Dirge explained. "Please sprinkle a pinch atop the burner, then set spark to it using the strike-stone."

"All right," Scavenger agreed. It seemed like a remarkably primitive means of setting fire to something, but Scavenger did as Dirge had asked. The black metal disk glowed a dull orange as soon as the spark touched it, and a pungent, resinous smoke began to rise.

"As this spark is transformed and rises in the form of smoke, so the spark of our comrade will be purified in order to rise and join with the the All," Dirge intoned. "May Primus guard his crossing."

Dirge then gave Scavenger a second jar, this one filled with black powder. "Use this to trace a nine u'tar circle around the altar. Make sure you stay within the circle at all times, and be cautious with the powder. You will find that a little of it goes a long way."

"Nine u'tars?" Scavenger echoed. It was an archaic unit of measurement, though Scavenger's internal database still contained a reference for it. "At that diameter, TC's marker's going to be in the way."

"Aye," Dirge answered grimly. "That is the reason why it is important to place the markers a certain distance from one another."

"So it's not… ku'at?" Scavenger asked timidly.

"It is not ideal," Dirge admitted, "but we can only do our best."

Scavenger opened the jar cautiously. The powder had a smoky odor and a texture like fine sand. He sprinkled it on the floor as directed, tracing around the edge of Thundercracker's tomb where it intruded into the circle and then picking up the trail at the far side. Somehow, it did not surprise him when Dirge handed him the strike-stone again and asked him to set spark to the powder circle. When he did, the powder blazed into brilliant green flames.

"Our circle is complete," Dirge pronounced. "We must remain within its boundary until our rite has ended."

"What if we don't?" Scavenger asked.

"The circle acts as a beacon to the spirit of the decedent, and if its boundary is crossed, his spirit may lose its way. Also, according to legend, there is also a danger of nearby spirits trying to attack us."

"Oh," Scavenger said, glancing uneasily at the silent necropolis. He couldn't guess how many ghosts might be wandering among those statues, and he certainly didn't want to find out. "I'll be careful," he promised.

Dirge acknowledged this with a nod. "The circle," he said, "is eternity. The flames are both protection and purification, and their light shall serve to guide our comrade home to the Allspark."

"Is there a reason why the flames are green?" Scavenger asked.

"I like green," Dirge said, with utmost seriousness.

While Scavenger stared at him, trying to decide whether he was teasing, Dirge added, "Please do not be alarmed by what I am about to say. The rite we are about to perform includes two separate incantations, the first of which will summon the spirit of the decedent into our circle. This will only have a noticeable effect if he has not already crossed over himself, which most spirits do. If he does enter our circle, the barrier of flames will purify him of any lingering attachments to the physical realm, including any bonds that he may have formed during his life. This should bring some relief to his bondmate."

"What kind of relief?" Scavenger asked.

"I would compare it to cauterizing a wound," Dirge said. "Having experienced it myself, I will admit that it is not pleasant. The sealing of the bond leaves the survivor feeling lost, empty and alone. To leave it unsealed, however, can result in death. It would be similar to leaving a wound to bleed out. Surviving bondmates do often die," he continued, "if not from shock, or accidents incurred at the moment of their mate's death, then from _kesu_ , a sickness of spirit which causes the survivor's life-force to drain slowly away as his spark attempts to follow that of his mate. And that is only in cases that do not end in suicide." He paused. "Can you see, now, why Starscream's bondmate might not have been able to come?"

Scavenger stared at him, optics wide, and finally managed a nod. "I… yes," he said. "I didn't realize that bonding was so dangerous."

"It is," Dirge replied with a smile. "But it is also worth any risk."

And there it was again. That mysterious… _something_ that bonded mechs seemed to understand, and Scavenger did not. There was so much he didn't understand, and he sensed that what he'd learned so far was only scratching the surface.

"In the unlikely event that Starscream has not already crossed on his own, a second incantation will be required," Dirge said. "This one will open a gateway into the Allspark, enabling him to make the transition. It is very unlikely, however, that this will be needed. In the hundreds of times I have performed this rite, there have been perhaps ten spirits who had not already crossed." He paused, studying Scavenger. "Are you ready?"

Scavenger wasn't ready at all, and doubted he ever could be, but he gave an uncertain nod. This was to help Starscream, after all, so he could hardly say no.

"Do not worry," Dirge assured him as he crossed his forearms over his spark. "The circle protects us, and any harm that might come would be to me, not you."

 _Except this is_ Starscream _we're talking about,_ Scavenger thought, remembering the crown and what Dirge had said earlier about spirits of the dead searching for treasured objects that had been stolen from them. _It wasn't stealing,_ he reminded himself, though it was hard to imagine making that argument to Starscream's vengeful spirit. He opened his mouth to voice his misgivings, but it was already too late. Dirge had begun the chant.

It had no words. It was a deep resonance that seemed to come, not so much from Dirge himself but from the floor beneath their feet. It rose gradually, both in pitch and volume, until the air itself seemed to tremble. The flames went out of focus, their light seemingly diffused by the subtle vibration, or perhaps by the blurring of Scavenger's optics. A profound sadness was welling from some unknown depth of his being.

This was, he realized, a mild application of Dirge's Sigma ability, which caused those within hearing range of his engines to become crippled with despair. The sorrow he felt now seemed to come from within, though, as if Dirge's strange song was bringing all his sadness and regret to the surface.

His mind conjured the memory-file of Starscream atop the podium, resplendent in his moment of greatest glory, which had also turned out to be his last moment. He had looked so beautiful then, truly brighter than the stars themselves. The thought of a future devoid of his light seemed bleak and colorless, almost impossible to imagine.

Gradually, Scavenger became aware that he had clasped his arms around his own chest, unconsciously mirroring Dirge's gesture, though in his case it was simply an attempt to console himself. He ached to cry out, give voice to his grief as he'd done earlier, yet no sound would come.

 _How much worse would this be if we'd been bonded?_

The question arose with such abrupt clarity that it shocked him. Somewhere out there in the universe, there was someone who _had_ been bonded to Starscream, and was no doubt grieving for him with depth of agony that Scavenger literally could not imagine. He was suddenly ashamed of the jealous resentment he'd felt toward this unknown mech, and of the anger that he'd felt toward Starscream for choosing that other mech over him. His hand went to his subspace.

"Dirge?"

The Seeker gave no sign of having heard. His half-shuttered optics seemed focused in the far distance, as if he was seeing something beyond the physical realm. Suddenly he went rigid, optics snapping wide with shock as a frigid gust of wind swept into the circle, making the flames gutter.

"He is here," he said.

* * *

 **End Note:** For the record, I was _not_ planning on anything supernatural happening in this story. Then again, I might have known that Starscream would insist on having more than just a cameo. (Like I could ever say no to him, right?) Besides which, I've always loved ghost stories, so... here we go!


	6. The Crossing

In which Dirge gets metaphysical, and Scavenger has to talk his way out of a touchy situation.

 **AN:** A breem is 8.12 minutes here, as per the definitions given by Akzeal in "A Brief Essay on Cybertronian Time-keeping and Conversions," which has become my go-to reference for Cybertronian time units. It is very useful and well thought-out, and can be found at Archive of our Own Ao3). I highly recommend it. :-)

* * *

 **The Crossing**

Even without Dirge's pronouncement, Scavenger would have needed nothing further to convince him that they weren't alone. The air around them seemed dense, heavy with a foreboding sense of presence.

"Now what?" he asked as he edged closer to Dirge, his words emerging as a puff of steam in the frigid air.

"Now we will have to use the second chant," Dirge answered calmly. He seemed completely unruffled, as if being in the presence of an unseen entity was an everyday occurrence for him. Then again, maybe it was.

The Crypt Master shuttered his optics and began his chant. This time there were words, though they were in a language that Scavenger didn't recognize. As Dirge's voice rose in its slow, sombre cadence, the air around them filled with a soft, diffuse glow that seemed to come from no particular source. As the light grew in strength, Scavenger began to feel calmer. There was something hauntingly familiar about it, and also comforting, like a half-forgotten dream of his younglinghood.

As he continued to listen, Scavenger found that he was losing himself in the rise and fall of Dirge's deep, sonorous voice. There was an unearthly beauty about it that he never would have associated with someone like Dirge, something almost _poetic_. As the chant continued, the light coalesced into small, individual points that swirled around them in a slow-moving vortex, like a galaxy of stars. Dirge fell silent then, but the song continued, seeming to come now from the lights themselves. The refrain had changed too, having become hauntingly familiar, and Scavenger was startled to recognize it as the very same song that his carrier had used long ago to lull him into recharge.

"What's going on?" he whispered.

Dirge glanced at him. "You are able to see it?"

Scavenger just nodded.

"It is the Allspark."

"It's…it's… _beautiful_ ," Scavenger said, his voice choked with awe.

"Aye," Dirge replied, his tone wistful. "It is."

He looked even more desperately tired than before, as if the chant had drained him, and yet, at the same time, his gaunt features had softened, taking on an expression that somehow encompassed both sorrow and joy. In a strange and unexpected way, Dirge, too, was beautiful.

"So… what happens now?" Scavenger asked him shyly.

"I am holding open the gate," Dirge replied. "He is free to cross. Unless—"

He broke off with a gasp as the icy wind tore wildly around the circle, howling like a caged animal searching desperately for a way out. The music faltered, its notes becoming discordant, and the vortex of stars blurred into blazing comet-trails spiraling inward toward something that now resembled a black hole.

"Dirge!" Scavenger shouted in panic. "What's going on?"

"He—he doesn't want to," Dirge said, sounding surprised. "He's fighting, trying to break out of the circle."

"Can he… can he _do_ that?"

"He is… afraid, I think," Dirge said. "I—" He broke off with a gasp and bent double, clutching at his spark.

"Dirge!" Scavenger caught his shoulders, and nearly recoiled when he felt how hot Dirge's plating had become. He was burning up, in spite of the freezing temperature.

"I can't hold it," Dirge said. "If he doesn't cross—"

"What? What will happen if he doesn't?" When Dirge didn't answer, Scavenger shouted into the wind. "Starscream! You have to cross over!"

The invisible presence offered no reply, buffeting against Scavenger as it roared past him.

 _The crown_ , Scavenger thought suddenly. He yanked the canvas bag from his subspace. "I'm sorry!" he yelled. "You can have it back, see?" He held it aloft, and then, realizing that the spirit might not be able to tell what it was, undid the drawstring and drew out the battered crown. He stumbled forward and laid it on the platform at the statue's feet. "Look, it's yours! It always was yours, I never should have taken it! I just wanted to keep you close to me but…" his voice faltered, but he pressed on. "That was wrong too, because _you_ were never mine, either. Please! You have to—"

The wind rose to a deafening shriek, drowning out his voice, and Scavenger saw that Dirge had sunk to his knees, still clawing his chest. _It's_ not _the crown,_ Scavenger thought suddenly. And then he knew what he had to do. He lunged at the circle of flames and began stomping them out.

"Scavenger, no!" Dirge cried hoarsely. "You must not—"

"I have to!" Scavenger shouted as he swept his shovel-tail across the line of flames, crushing them out. "Starscream, you're free to go now! Leave Dirge alone!"

The icy wind ripped past him like a tornado, and it felt as if all the air was being sucked from the room. Then there was a sound like a thunderclap, followed by an eerie stillness. The last of the flames guttered out as Scavenger crashed to his knees beside Dirge.

"Hey!" He caught hold of Dirge's shoulders. "Are you all right?"

Dirge did not respond right away, but finally, in a low, cracked voice, he said, "You should not have done that."

"I had to! He was going to kill you!"

Dirge shook his head. "It was the strain of holding the gate open that was taxing me, not anything that he was doing. I am not sure he was even aware of our presence. He seemed…" Dirge pushed himself up to sit on his heel-thrusters. "I am not certain what happened, Scavenger. Something crossed over, but I am not sure what it was."

"Something crossed over that wasn't Starscream?" Scavenger glanced around at the forest of statues. "Do you mean some other spirit?"

"I… do not believe so," Dirge said. He began to struggle to his feet. Scavenger caught his arm and helped him up, staying close beside him as he stood swaying on unsteady legs. "I believe that there has been a split," Dirge added, his gaze fixed on the spot where the vortex had been.

"A _what_?"

"It is hard to be absolutely certain," Dirge said, "as it is something I have experienced just one other time, but I think that a _part_ of Starscream has crossed over while another part has not."

"That can happen?" Scavenger asked in alarm. "Like, his spirit got ripped in half or something?" The idea of a ghostly Starscream haunting the Crypt was bad enough, but the idea of _half_ a ghost was somehow worse.

"Only in a sense," Dirge said. "I fear that the term 'spirit' is slightly misleading. It is used as a convenience to describe that part of an individual which is not his body, but in fact, the thing that we call the spirit has two parts: the spark and the ak'ba."

"The… ak'ba," Scavenger echoed. "I've never heard of that."

"Most have not," Dirge admitted. "The spark is the part of us which is eternal and connected to the All. The ak'ba is what one might call the personality. It is what enables us to perceive ourselves as separate individuals, and it is the receptacle of the memories and emotional attachments that we form during life. The ak'ba is what is normally purified by crossing the flame barrier. The decedent does not necessarily forget who he was in life, but he becomes detached from his former identity and is thus able to return to the Allspark, taking with him the wisdom of experience that he has gained."

Scavenger stared at him blankly. "I have no idea what any of that means," he confessed at length, "but I take it that a split isn't a good thing?"

"It is highly unusual," Dirge said. "As I said, I have experienced it with just one other spirit."

"Whose?" Scavenger asked, though a part of him sensed that he already knew the answer.

"Zephyr," Dirge replied softly. "He did not wish to… leave me."

"So he… _split_?"

"Aye. Sparks have a strong desire to cross over into the All. It is not unlike a gravitational force, and is very difficult to resist. However, an ak'ba which retains a strong emotional attachment to the physical world and is highly energized, as is the case with a Singularity such as Zephyr, can sometimes resist that pull with sufficient force that the spark simply breaks free and crosses on its own."

"That sounds really bad," Scavenger said.

"It can be, yes."

Scavenger bowed his head. "I didn't mean to do that to him," he said. "It just seemed like you were being hurt, and—"

"The split was not your doing," Dirge interrupted. "It could have been because our circle was not as strong as it should have been, or that Starscream has an especially powerful ak'ba, or both. But do not blame yourself. You did no harm to him by breaking the circle, though you could have brought tremendous danger on yourself."

"Oh," Scavenger said in a small voice. The Crypt, with its impenetrable silence and solemn rows of statues seemed terrifyingly alien, filled with things that he would never understand. Suddenly, all he wanted was his warm, safe berth and the comforting clutter of his quarters, in which, he was reasonably sure, no unseen forces were lurking in the shadows. "So," he said at last. "What do we do now?"

Dirge seemed to consider this. "We will repeat the ceremony, but this time with a tighter circle," he decided. "Perhaps if the circle is not broken by Thundercracker's memorial, it will be strong enough this time to purify Starscream's ak'ba so that he may truly—" He broke off, mid-sentence. "Hide."

"What?" Scavenger glanced around, half expecting an enraged spirit to leap from behind one of the markers, but the Crypt was morbidly silent. Except… except for the quiet steps that he could now hear coming toward them from the Grand Atrium. He needed no further prompting to dive behind the nearest marker, which happened to be Thundercracker's. Dirge, in the meantime, began swiftly gathering his tools.

"Dirge!" Scavenger hissed.

Dirge glanced at him, gave a slight shake of his head—and then it was too late. A tall shadow appeared in the doorway, framed by the flickering glow of the great flame, and Scavenger instantly recognized his distinct silhouette. It was Cyclonus. The acting Decepticon commander entered the room without hesitation, seemingly undaunted by his surroundings, but halted abruptly when he caught sight of Dirge.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "What are you doing here?"

"I am Dirge, the Crypt Master," Dirge replied. "I have been conducting an interment ceremony for one of our fallen comrades."

"Is that so?" Cyclonus replied, his tone icy. "And which fallen comrade might that be?"

Dirge hesitated, as if he were debating the wisdom of answering that question honestly. "Starscream," he replied at last, and Scavenger's spark sank. Why couldn't Dirge have just made something up? Surely he could have given the name of some other Seeker who had fallen during the past orn. Primus knew there were plenty of names from which to choose, but Dirge probably thought that lying wasn't ku'at—or something.

" _Starscream_?" Cyclonus made the name sound like a curse. "Starscream the traitor? The usurper? The betrayer and murderer of our mighty leader, Megatron? _That_ Starscream?"

"Aye," Dirge replied in a low voice. "The very same."

"That," Cyclonus hissed, "is a travesty! His remains should be scattered to the winds, not accorded a place of honor in this Crypt!"

"I do not judge the actions of the deceased," Dirge countered, "nor should any of us. His spark will be weighed in the balance of ku'at, as every spark will be. I know only that Starscream is our fallen leader, and as such, he deserves—"

"Deserves _nothing_!" Cyclonus shouted. "How _dare_ you memorialize this sniveling piece of filth?" Cyclonus raised his weapon and fired, and Scavenger watched in horror as the laser blast zipped past Dirge, missing him by a wingspan, and struck the platform behind him. Cyclonus obviously knew what to aim for, because his shot hit the edge of the small opening that held the urn. Dirge threw himself in front of the opening, hands outspread.

"Please desist!" he implored. "It is not ku'at to disturb the remains of the dead."

"I do not care for your foolish beliefs! Step aside, or you will share in Starscream's fate."

Scavenger didn't have a clear view of Cyclonus from where he was hiding, but that didn't matter. All he could see was Dirge standing in front of Starscream's marker with his wings flared wide, ready to protect his lifeless charge with everything that he had, including his own life.

It was a moment caught in time. Scavenger's mind flashed back to the inauguration ceremony. He'd been standing about the same distance from Galvatron as he was from Cyclonus now, and Starscream, like Dirge, had been standing frozen like a turbofox caught in the beam of a hunting party's searchlight. He, Scavenger, could have changed everything. He could have thrown himself on Galvatron and spoiled his shot, and he almost certainly would have died for that, but Starscream… Starscream would have had a chance. A chance that he could give to Dirge, now.

He forced his legs into motion, not letting himself stop to think about what he was about to do. He knew that if he did think about it, even for an instant, he would run away screaming and probably get them _both_ killed. _Below the horizon, below the horizon_ , he reminded himself, mentally repeating the words like a mantra as he ambled from behind the marker.

"Hey, Dirge," he said conversationally, "have you seen my laser saw? I just can't find it anywhere! I know I dropped it _somewhere_ around here, I just can't—"

"Who are you?" Cyclonus demanded, swinging his weapon toward Scavenger's head. As Scavenger froze, staring up the business end of his new commander's extremely large and nasty-looking rifle, it occurred to him that while his _death_ might still be below the horizon, he could still end up horribly maimed. "Identify yourself!" Cyclonus barked, when Scavenger continued to just stand there.

"I'm… um, Scavenger," Scavenger said. "Sorry to interrupt," he added as he started toward Dirge in a mindless shuffle, all too aware of how Cyclonus' weapon was continuing to track him. "I just left one of my tools down here, and Long Haul's gonna kick my aft if I don't find the darn thing."

"Scavenger!" Dirge hissed in a choked voice. "What are you—"

"I'm one of the Constructicons," Scavenger continued loudly, hoping that the terror he felt wasn't evident in his voice or expression. If he'd had more presence of mind, he would have put his mask back on before stepping into the line of fire, but it was too late for that now. "Actually," he added with a bland smile, "I'm Devastator's right arm. You've heard of Devastator, right?"

"Devastator?" Cyclonus echoed. Apparently that name _was_ important enough to ring a bell, because he finally lowered his weapon. "You are a member of the gestalt team that forms Devastator?"

"Right. And you're Cyclonus, yah? I guess _you_ haven't seen my laser saw? It's about yay big," Scavenger said, holding his hands apart to show the size, "and—oh! There it is!" He let his gaze fall on Dirge's censer, which still lying on top of the platform. "You know, it's funny," he said as he tucked it into his subspace. "I musta walked past this thing about fifty times, and it was right here! Who would have thought?"

"Are you insane?" Dirge growled, through clenched dentae.

Scavenger just smiled at him—and then winked. "Guess we should finish up here," he said. He scratched his helm with his shovel-tail in the way that Hook had always considered "deplorable," the gesture serving as a helpful distraction as he reached back with one arm and quietly swept the crown into his subspace. "Galvatron _did_ specifically order this, after all, so I'm sure he'd want it done right!"

"Galvatron… ordered _this_?" Frowning deeply, Cyclonus glanced over his shoulder at Megatron's statue as if it could somehow confirm whether or not this was true.

"Um… yeah!" Scavenger pressed, sensing an opening. "I was surprised by it too, y'know, but apparently there's this thing like if you kill someone, you have to make sure they get buried right, or their ghost could come back and get you! Right, Dirge?"

The Crypt Master's optics had gone so wide that they looked like they might be about to pop out of his face. "I… er…"

Scavenger elbowed him sharply.

"Erhm! It is… always ku'at to finish… what one has started," Dirge managed with a cough.

Scavenger shot him a glare, which earned a helpless look in response. Guessing that lies _were_ included on the apparently long list of things that were considered "not ku'at," he added, "Yeah! I mean… that's why _Starscream_ insisted that we put up that marker for Megatron!"

He pointed to the marker, and Cyclonus' head jerked toward it as if yanked by a string. The twin crests atop his helm rose up straight, twitching like the audials of a petrorabbit listening for signs of danger, and when his gaze finally returned to Dirge and Scavenger, he looked noticeably shaken.

"This memorial was… _Starscream's_ doing?"

"Well, we craftsmechs were the ones who actually _did_ it," Scavenger said proudly, "but it was Starscream who gave the orders."

Cyclonus glanced at Dirge. "Is that the truth?"

Dirge cleared his vocalizer. "Aye," he said, more firmly this time. "Starscream was most insistent that it be done before his inauguration. He even postponed the ceremony in order that we would have the time we needed to properly complete our task."

Cyclonus glanced the marker up and down, as if to evaluate its artistic merit. "I… I would never have imagined," he said. "Perhaps I underestimated Starscream's degree of honor." Turning back to them, he added, "I will allow you a few moments in which to complete your task. You have precisely one breem."

"That will not be enough time," Dirge protested. "We must return to my foundry to retrieve additional parts for the statue—"

"Crypt Master Dirge," Cyclonus cut in, "you are more than welcome to remain here and finish, while the rest of the Decepticons depart for Charr. The choice is yours. I will await you in the Grand Atrium."

Cyclonus spun on his heel and began to walk away, but then paused, turning once again toward Megatron's statue. He approached it in two quick strides, bowed deeply with his palms crossed above his spark, and murmured a few words in a voice too low for Scavenger to make out what he was saying. He then straightened with a sharp salute. "You are, once again and always, our great and noble leader," he intoned. "I swear it shall be so."

"One breem," he said to Dirge and Scavenger, and then stalked from the room.

* * *

 **End Notes:** The ak'ba is my adaptation of the Egyptian concept of the _ba_ , which is the part of the soul thought to contain everything that makes an individual unique, similar to the notion of 'personality.' In the paradigm I've devised, the Spark is distinct from the ak'ba, and is more like a combination of the _ib_ (heart) and the _ka_ (vital spark or essence). This is vastly simplified compared to the Egyptian concept of soul, which has several other distinct parts, but I borrowed from it because I like the idea of an individual's spirit having various components, plus I think the notion can serve to explain why Starscream's ghost appears as a full-bodied apparition rather than just a spark.


	7. The Raven's Gift

The conclusion of our tale, in which Scavenger attempts a little blackmail of his own, and in return, receives an unexpected gift.

* * *

 **The Raven's Gift**

It was Scavenger who spoke first. "Do you think Cyclonus means it?"

"I think it would be wise not test him," Dirge replied. He limped over to Starscream's marker and set his shoulder heavily against it, as if he no longer had the energy to stand on his own. "One breem will not be enough time to repeat the ceremony, nor even to complete the statue."

"Then what can we do?" Scavenger asked.

"Scavenger," Dirge said, his tone gentle. "You should leave."

" _Leave_? What are you talking about?"

"You have done far more than I ever could have asked. Go to Charr with the others, and I will finish this myself."

Scavenger stared at him, a cold feeling invading his spark. His memory flashed to the image of Dirge gazing wistfully into the Allspark, and a sense of panic rose in him, quickly boiling into rage.

"Like slag you will!" he exploded. "You dragged me down here why? Because you needed my help! How _exactly_ are you planning to finish this on your own?"

"I will manage."

"You can barely stand up! We both know what's really going to happen if I leave. You're not going to be able to do a thing for him! You'll just die down here—and that's… that's what you _want_ , isn't it?"

Dirge stiffened. "Scavenger! That is not—"

"You made a promise to him!" Scavenger interrupted. "How are you going to keep it if you're dead? If you go, then at least there's some hope of eventually coming back and finishing!"

"No," Dirge said, shaking his head. "Even if the Autobots were to allow me to return, there is no—"

Scavenger whipped out his pistol and aimed it at him. It wasn't a very impressive weapon, as weapons went, yet the Seeker fell silent, staring at him in shock.

"Look Dirge," Scavenger said. "I've lost my home, my collection, and the mech I thought I was in love with! I've handled remains, and faced down a fragged-off ghost, and—"

"Technically," Dirge cut in, "Starscream is not—"

"Shut up and listen! There are two possible things that are going to happen. One is that we go with Cyclonus. The other is that we surrender to the Autobots, but there is no way I'm leaving you down here, because… because I'm not leaving my _friend_ in a place like _this_!"

Dirge opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. His stunned expression made him look surprisingly young, almost the same age that Zephyr's statue had appeared to be. "You know Cyclonus would never allow you to stay, if it meant Devastator losing his right arm."

"Well then," Scavenger said, "I guess there's really just _one_ choice, isn't there?"

Dirge raised an optic ridge. "Are you blackmailing me?"

"I suppose I am."

"Very well," Dirge said after a pause, with an amused half-smile. "Perhaps we should use our remaining time to put Starscream to rest with as much dignity as we can manage. May I have my censer back? Or should I say," he added, a distinct twinkle in his optics, "my laser saw."

Scavenger put his pistol away and drew the black metal disk from his subspace. "This thing looks _nothing_ like a laser saw," he muttered, handing it over. "Cyclonus is no craftsmech."

"Clearly not," Dirge agreed, as he lit more incense. As the richly scented smoke began to rise, he went on to explain, "The conclusion of the ceremony involves sealing the tomb. It is at this point that tributes may be offered, either in the form of parting words or burial gifts. Since we have none—"

"Wait." Scavenger reached into his subspace and drew out the crown. "I probably should… I did say that I'd give it back to him." He picked up the canvas bag from where he'd dropped it earlier, in his panicked attempt to appease Starscream's raging spirit. He began putting the crown back inside, but paused when he noticed Dirge's frown. "What?" he asked. "It's okay, isn't it? I mean, it's ku'at to put the crown inside the marker?"

Dirge held out his hand. "May I?"

"Sure," Scavenger said as he handed it over.

Dirge stiffened the moment his hand touched the crown. "Hmph." He turned the object this way and that, his fingers lightly tracing its broken surfaces. Finally he handed it back. "Scavenger," he said seriously, "I believe you should keep this."

"But I already said I'd give it back," Scavenger said, "and besides, you're the one who said that it's not ku'at to steal from the dead."

"True," Dirge agreed, "but is _highly_ ku'at to guard the belongings of a deceased friend or loved one."

"Yes, but—"

"That," Dirge said, nodding toward the crown, "is far more than it appears to be. I cannot say what its true purpose is, but it holds tremendous power. It will be far safer under your guardianship than it would be here."

"Okaaay," Scavenger answered slowly, as he tucked the crown away. It was strange to recall how, less than a joor ago, he'd been determined to hang on to the crown at any cost. Now the idea of keeping it felt wrong, somehow. Almost disappointing. "I feel like I should give him _something_ ," he said, "but I don't have anything else."

Dirge considered this. "I believe you mentioned something about poetry."

"Oh." Scavenger's face grew hot. He'd forgotten that he'd mentioned it. "It's… well. I mean, I did read him one of my poems once, but he wasn't… interested."

"That does not mean you should not read one now," Dirge countered. "Funerary rites are not only for the dead. They are also meant to bring peace to the living. I would enjoy hearing what you have written."

Scavenger hesitated and was about to say no, but then he remembered that last poem that he'd written. When he drew the book from his subspace, it fell open to that last page almost by itself.

"You won't tell anyone?"

"Never," Dirge promised.

Scavenger stared down at his blocky writing and tightened his grip on the book as if it might flutter away. He cleared his vocalizer, and began to read. His voice was shaky at first, but it firmed as he continued to read. The emotion that he'd invested in every word, every stroke of his stylus rose up in him fresh and filled with pain.

"And I'm here with nothing left to hold," he concluded, "but all these words I could not say."

He closed the book and pressed it to his chest, his head bowed.

"That was well done," Dirge said quietly. "I liked the part about the starless beloved."

"I wrote what was in my spark," Scavenger replied.

"I could tell."

Scavenger glanced up, and Dirge gave him a faint smile. "We should seal the tomb," he said, "unless there is anything else you would like to add."

Scavenger shook his head.

Dirge opened the near-invisible panel at the side of the marker and pressed the switch that closed the circular opening that held the urn. It began to slide shut, but he released the switch before it had closed completely. "I think I will leave it slightly open," he murmured. "It is not precisely ku'at, but if his bondmate comes here, he may wish to… hold him, one last time."

He stepped back from the marker, and Scavenger watched as his gaze rose to the spot where the vortex had appeared. Just then, a loud clanking sound echoed from the Grand Atrium. "Cyclonus," Scavenger said. "He's opening the doors. We have to go."

He caught Dirge's arm, and Dirge followed without protest as Scavenger led him toward the Grand Atrium. When they reached the freight elevator, Cyclonus opened the doors for them with scornful politeness. "I see that you have decided to join us, Crypt Master Dirge," he said as they stumbled inside.

Scavenger, who was supporting Dirge with an arm around his shoulders, helped him to the rear of the compartment and settled him to lean against the wall. Dirge sagged, his optics going dark for a moment, but then they flickered alight again as he twisted his head toward Scavenger and grasped his forearm, giving it a light squeeze.

"Thank you," he said softly. "My friend."

Cyclonus, who was by now activating the lift, noted the gesture with an expression of contempt. "Might as well be Autobots," he muttered.

As they began to rise, Scavenger leaned against the wall next to Dirge and shuttered his own optics. He was surprised to find himself smiling behind his mask.

* * *

 **Epilogue**

"Rations for the journey," Hook announced as he tossed a pathetically small energon cube in Scavenger's direction. "I suggest you make it last."

Scavenger caught the cube with a nod of thanks. "How long 'til we get there?" he asked.

"How would I know something like that?" Hook snapped. "It's not as if that crew has chosen to share any information with us mere mortals," he added, tilting his chin toward the small cluster of mechs who were gathered near Astrotrain's forward control area. Cyclonus was standing ramrod straight, gazing out through the forward windows with his hands clasped behind his back, while Scourge and his Sweeps stood grouped behind him, as if on guard. "Judging by Astrotrain's current speed, however, I would say that we should arrive on Charr in approximately two point five orns." He paused. "Scavenger, are you well?"

Scavenger gaped at Hook, momentarily lost for words. "I'm all right," he said at last. It suddenly occurred to him how exhausted his team leader looked, which was really small wonder considering that he'd been working nonstop since the Decepticons' return to Darkmount, running triage for the wounded while somehow, at the same time, coordinating the evacuation. When Scavenger and Cyclonus had returned from the Crypt with a semi-conscious Dirge in tow, Hook had swung into action with his typical brusque efficiency and had sequestered Dirge for a thorough examination. He had, in fact, only just emerged from the curtained-off area at the back of Astrotrain's hold which he had designated as a temporary medbay.

Hook gave a perfunctory nod and started away.

Scavenger called after him. "Is Dirge going to be all right?"

Hook glanced back at him. "His systems were overtaxed due to exhaustion and unhealed injuries, but I expect he'll make a full recovery," he said. "He is awake now, if you would like to speak with him." With that he lumbered away, distributing energon cubes as he went. Scavenger realized that the rest of his team was staring at him.

"Ooohoo!" Mixmaster cackled. "So the vulture's awake! Guess you better go _talk_ to him!"

"Yeah, guess you better!" Bonecrusher started to guffaw, and the rest of the Constructicons quickly joined in.

Scavenger flinched, dropping his gaze to stare at his feet. He _did_ want to see how Dirge was doing, but he also knew that if he did, the others would never let him hear the end of it. In fact, they might even start to shun him. He wondered how many of the other Decepticons had seen him and Cyclonus half-carrying Dirge when they'd arrived back at Darkmount. He'd been too intent on getting Dirge the medical care he needed to be concerned about it much else.

Cyclonus, being new, wouldn't know about the superstitions concerning Dirge, though Scavenger suspected that his having publicly touched the Crypt Master would only add to his fearsome reputation. Scavenger, on the other hand, was probably now considered marked for death, and perhaps even "untouchable" himself.

It was at times like this that he longed to hide away in his quarters, or to wander off on his own somewhere, exploring and digging for new treasures. Yet something in him felt different, and he realized that he wasn't quite the same mech he'd been when Dirge had first knocked on his door. He had willingly handled a dead body, offered his artistic opinion when asked, had faced down a raging spirit, and had even read his poetry out loud. And yes, he had even stepped into the line of fire to protect a friend.

He pushed himself up from the bench where he'd been sitting and glanced around at the rest of his team. "Yeah," he said cheerfully. "I guess I should go talk to him. See how my _friend_ is doing, you know?"

The rest of his team fell silent, staring at him with stunned looks. Scavenger smiled inwardly as he turned and strolled toward the temporary medbay. Inside the curtained area, several temporary berths had been set up for the more badly injured Decepticons. Two of these had been pushed together, enabling Dirge's trinemates, Thrust and Ramjet, to engage in what looked to be a ferocious game of flip-tiles. Neither of them glanced up as Scavenger walked past, nor did most of the huddled forms in the other berths.

Dirge, whether by accident or design, was in the berth nearest the back of the hold. He was sitting up in his berth, and seemed to be deeply absorbed in a game of solitaire. As Scavenger approached, he saw that the Seeker had taken one particular card from the pack and was gazing at it as though it held some special meaning. An energon cube, slightly larger than Scavenger's own, sat untouched on the berth next to him.

"Hey," Scavenger said softly.

Dirge took a moment to glance up. "Scavenger," he acknowledged at last, his tone crisp and formal.

Scavenger frowned behind his mask. They hadn't spoken since their return to Darkmount, considering that there really hadn't been time. Dirge's injuries had needed immediate attention, while Scavenger had been conscripted into loading supplies onto Astrotrain. Now, suddenly, he felt awkward. Perhaps their friendship had been temporary, existing only while they were down in the Crypt, but now that they were back to their "normal" lives, things between them were also back to, well… normal.

He glanced at the hexagonal card that Dirge was holding. It was the _Minstrel_ , and showed a silver Seeker dancing while playing a _sainu_. It looked eerily similar to the statue of Zephyr. Scavenger also noticed that an eerie silence had fallen. When he risked a glance around, he saw that everyone in the medbay capable of noticing had stopped what they were doing and were staring at him, Dirge's trinemates included.

"Dirge," Scavenger said firmly. He leaned forward and grasped the Seeker's shoulder, making sure that everyone saw him do it. Dirge jumped slightly, and glanced up in surprise. Scavenger smiled, though he realized that Dirge couldn't see it behind his mask. "Is it okay if I sit here while I drink my energon?" he asked.

Dirge gave him a searching look. It was hard to guess what he saw, but then again, Scavenger thought, maybe they weren't so different. They were both hidden behind their respective masks, and the assumptions that everyone made about them.

"Of course," Dirge said finally, and swept his cards aside to make room. Scavenger perched on the edge of the berth, and held up his cube.

When Dirge merely stared at it, Scavenger explained, "It's something my people do. We bump cubes. It's for good luck and friendship and… stuff."

"My people do as well," Dirge said, and nudged Scavenger's cube with his own.

Scavenger drank. His systems responded with a grateful hum as fresh energy flooded his circuits, though he noticed, when he dismissed his empty cube, that Dirge had yet to take a sip from his own. "Go on," Scavenger prompted. "You gotta drink up if you want the good luck to work."

Dirge contemplated him for a moment longer. "Very well," he said at last. He drained his cube in one long draught, and dismissed it with a wave. "Satisfied?"

Scavenger shrugged. "Maybe. What was that game were you playing?"

"Executioner. Do you know it?"

"Do I!" Scavenger bounced a little, grinning behind his mask. "I was sparked playing Executioner. Deal me in?"

Dirge, by way of response, shuffled his deck and dealt out a hand of six cards, which Scavenger swept up and fanned in front of himself. "Can I ask you something?" he asked, as they began to play.

"Ask," Dirge said.

"Are you upset that I made you leave?"

Dirge glanced at him over the tops of his cards, and gave a slow shake of his head. "You did not make me leave."

"Well… I did blackmail you."

Dirge smiled. "True. But blackmail is only effective against someone who believes they have something to lose, wouldn't you agree?"

Scavenger vented a sigh. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I am glad to be here with you, playing cards." With that, he set down his Tesseract next to the Ace of Cubes Scavenger had just played, and with a smirk of triumph, laid claim to the entire stack that they had played so far.

Scavenger glared at him in mock affront, wondering if Dirge could see his optics well enough to read the expression, and resumed play. "What do you think will happen?" he asked in a whisper. "To _him_ , I mean. Or his bondmate."

Dirge hesitated. "That, I do not know."

Scavenger frowned again, for real this time. "It was never covered in your priest training?"

"There are things that even we priests do not know," Dirge said.

 _There's something he's not telling_ , Scavenger thought, as he studied the Crypt Master's impassive features. He knew that Dirge wouldn't lie, but that didn't mean that he couldn't leave things unsaid if it suited him.

"We're going to go back," Scavenger vowed. "Just as soon as we can. We're going to do that ceremony again the way it's meant to be done, and everything's going to be fine. You'll see."

"Aye," Dirge agreed. "We'll go back as soon as we can."

Scavenger dropped his gaze to his cards, not really seeing them. He knew that the chances of being able to go back to Cybertron any time in the near future was slim, considering the current state of the Decepticon army, and the thought that someone's afterlife could hang in the balance because of _him_ seemed unimaginable.

"I have something for you," Dirge said, interrupting his thoughts. "If you would like to have it, of course."

"What is it?" Scavenger asked, surprised.

"It is a very _little_ thing," Dirge cautioned as he reached into subspace. The object, whatever it was, was so tiny that his hand completely enclosed it as he drew it out. "Just a keepsake, really. I thought it would make a good start for your next collection."

He dropped it into Scavenger's open palm. "It's pretty," Scavenger said, staring at it. "What is it?" It was a tiny, rounded piece of blue-green plastic in the shape of a bug, and looked as if it might once have been part of a toy.

"A scarab," Dirge said. "It is a type of beetle that was considered sacred by the ancient Egyptians, an Earth culture which had especially fascinating funerary traditions. The scarab collects that which others believe to have no value, and brings new life forth from it." A small smile tugged at his lips as he added, "I decided that if I am a vulture, than you must also be something. I chose scarab."

"Not vulture," Scavenger corrected without thinking. "A raven."

"What is a raven?" Dirge asked with a slight frown.

"A type of bird," Scavenger explained. "There's a famous poem about one. I could recite it for you sometime, if you want."

"I would like that," Dirge replied. "And I would like to hear more of your poetry, as well."

"Really?"

Dirge gave a solemn nod. "Of course."

"Oh," Scavenger said, nonplussed. He thought of his plan to incinerate his poetry book, and decided maybe that could wait, at least for a while. "I guess I could read you some more, if no one ever found out."

"It will be our secret," Dirge assured him. He paused. "Do you like the scarab?"

Scavenger returned his gaze to the the tiny object, and realized that his hand had begun to quiver. His collections in the past had always been just that; things that he had picked up because he happened to find them interesting, or attractive, or because he hoped they would be useful to one of his fellow Decepticons. He couldn't remember ever having received one as a gift.

"I'm going to treasure it," he said, tucking it reverently into his subspace.

His face felt hot behind his mask, and he wondered if Dirge could tell. The Seeker's gaze, however, was now fixed firmly on his cards, and his lean cheeks seemed noticeably darker than they had been a moment earlier. That, of course, could just be a trick of the light.

"Hmph," Dirge said. He shifted his weight on the berth as though he was getting uncomfortable. "Shall we play, then?"

Scavenger nodded.

Dirge set down his next card. Scavenger countered, and they fell into a companionable silence, too absorbed in their game to be concerned with whether the others were still watching them, or not.

* * *

And there you have it! The conclusion of my "little" Crypt fic, which accidentally turned into an epic. I hope that everyone who's read it has enjoyed it half as much as I enjoyed writing it, and thanks to everyone who has left reviews; that means a lot to me! :-) I've loved writing both Dirge and Scavenger, and have plans for some future adventures for them, though right now I'm feeling the need to get back to the "Unbroken" series and to Starscream and Skyfire... which is a story which won't be posted here, unfortunately, due to explicit content, but I will be sure to put a link to it on my profile page. I plan to start posting it by the end of 2015, so look out for it! :-)


End file.
